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CHICAGO: 

MORRILL, HIGGINS «& CO., PUBLISHERS. 

Idylwild Series. Vol. I, No. 18, Aug. If), 1892. Issued Weekly. Annual Subscription, $26.00. 
Entered in the Postoffice at Chicago as second-class matter. 






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‘“ARE YOU READY?’ ASKED PAUL D’ASPREMONT OF COUNT ALTA VILLA.” 

(See page 1^7-) 




THE EVIL EYE 




BY 




THEOPHILE GAUTIER 


thanslatco by 


ALEXINA LORANGER 
















CHICAGO : 

MORRILLT HIGGINS & OO. 
1892 



copykight: ^ 

1892 

MOREILL, HIGGINS & CO. 





ILLUSTRATIONS. 


Are you Ready asked Paul d’Aspremont of Count 

Altavilla Frontispiece. 

As Paul d’Aspremont Appeared on the Terrace, 

Alicia Arose with a Glad Cry 29 

It was Alicia Lying on Her Funeral Couch 180 

When he Reached the end of the Glacier he Paused 
Hesitatingly 194 


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";•//• A '‘.''I'' A 


CHAPTER 1. 



HE magnificent Tuscan steamer, Leopold, 


1 which sails between Marseilles and Na- 
ples, was just rounding the point of Procida, 
and the passengers, all effectually cured of sea- 
sickness by the welcome sight of land, were 
gathered on deck, eagerly watching the ap- 
proaching shore. They were divided into a 
variety of groups, each distinguishable by 
some marked characteristic. There were En- 
glish lords, members of the House of Com- 
mons, City merchants, Sheffield cutlers, all 
carefully shaven, with stiff cravats, well-pol- 
ished boots, and none of those little disorders 
of dress incident to travel; such marvels of ex- 
actness, in fact, that one might have thought 
they had just emerged from a band-box. They 
were mostly accompanied by their wives and 
daughters, the former equally correct, immova- 
ble and bored, while the latter, charming girls, 
with cream and strawberry complexions, were 
busily engaged consulting guide-books, jotting 
down impressions, or repeating with the most 


9 


10 


THE EVIL EYE. 


delicious British accent the consecrated phrase; 
“ Vedi napolie poi mori!' and taking not the 
slightest heed of the Don Juan glances of the 
Parisian fops who came back and forth inces- 
santly, to the great annoyance of the irritated 
mammas who apostrophized French impro- 
priety in very audible voices. 

Near the limit of the aristocratic quarter 
three or four young men were pacing up and 
down leisurely puffing their fragrant Havanas. 
They were readily recognized as artists by their 
gray felt-hats, sack-coats and wide linen trous- 
ers, indications that were further confirmed by 
moustaches a la Vandyck, hair curled a la Rubens, 
or cut brush-like a la Paid Veronese. They also 
cast frequent glances at those pretty English 
faces, but with a different motive, animated 
only by their love of the beautiful. 

On the bow of the ship, leaning against the 
rigging or sitting on coils of rope, were grouped 
the steerage passengers, devouring the food left 
intact on account of sea-sickness and entirely 
oblivious of the magnificent panorama unrolled 
before their eyes. The appreciation of nature 
is, after all, the almpst exclusive privilege of 


THE EVIL EYE. 


II 


cultivated minds, for they are not totally ab- 
sorbed by the material necessities of life. 

The weather was beautiful; the blue waves 
rose and fell with scarcely enough force to 
efface the wake of the ship, the smoke from 
the stack formed into clouds in the glorious 
sky and wafted away slowly like light flakes of 
snow, and the wheels dipped into an ocean ot 
diamond drops that sparkled in the sun, agitat- 
ing the water with joyous activity as if con- 
scious of the proximity of the shore. 

That long line of hillocks which extends 
from Pausillippe to Vesuvius, outlining the 
marvelous gulf beyond which Naples reposes 
like a sea-nymph drying herself on the beach 
after a bath, was beginning to show its purple 
undulations and detaching itself more clearly 
from the azure of the dazzling sky. A few white 
dots standing in relief against the more somber 
hue of the ground betrayed the presence of 
villas scattered through the the country, while 
fishing-smacks, returning^to the harbor, glided 
over the still water like swan feathers wafted 
by the breeze, announcing human activity on 
the majestic solitude of the sea. 


12 


THE EVIL EYE. 


A few more turns of the wheels and the 
chateau Saint-Elme and Saint-Martin convent 
appeared on the summit of the mountain that 
shelters Naples, dominating the church domes, 
hotel terraces, house tops, facades of palaces and 
verdure of gardens vaguely defined in a trans- 
parent mist. Then the chateau d’Oeuf crouch- 
ing on its foam-bathed rock seemed to advance 
toward the steamer and the pier whose beacon 
stretched out like an arm bearing a torch. 

At the extremity of the bay the bluish tints 
which distance lends Vesuvius were changing 
into more solid and vigorous tones, its flanks 
becoming furrowed and ridged with ravines 
and cooled lava, and from its summit arose in- 
numerable small jets of white smoke that floated 
in the air. 

They could clearly distinguish Chiatomone, 
Pizzo Falcone, the quay of Santa-Lucia with its 
line of hotels, the Palazzo Reale with its rows 
of balconies, the Palazzo Nuovo flanked by 
Moucharaby’s towers, the Arsenal, and ships of 
all nations intermingling their masts and spars 
like gigantic trees of a forest despoilt of foliage, 
when a passenger whpm no one had seen during 


THE EVIL EYE. 


13 


the passage, emerged from his cabin. Sea- 
sickness or unsociability had kept him away 
from the deck, or it may have been that this 
spectacle, new to most of his fellow travelers, 
had long been familiar to him and offered no 
interest. 

He was a man of six and twenty, or at 
least one might have given him that age at 
a first glance, but when closely scrutinized 
he seemed either younger or older, there 
being so much freshness and weariness mingled 
in his enigmatic physiognomy. His hair was 
of that obscure blond which the English call 
dUJUin and flamed up with metallic reflec- 
tions in the sunlight while it seemed almost 
black in the shade. His clear-cut profile offered 
the purest lines. He possessed a brow of 
which the phrenologist would have admired 
the protuberance, a nose of noble aquiline curve, 
lips clearly cut, and a chin whose powerful 
roundness recalled ancient Greek medals. And 
yet these features, beautiful in themselves, did 
not compose an agreeable ensemble ; they lacked 
that mysterious harmony which softens the 
•contours and blends them together. 


14 


THE EVIL EYE. 


There exists a legend of an Italian artist who^ 
wishing to portray the rebellious archangel, 
portrayed him in a mask of incongruous beauty, 
producing a much more terrible and sinister 
effect than he could have attained by means 
of horns, circumflex eye brows, and gaping 
mouth. 

The stranger’s face produced an impression 
of the same kind. His eyes, however, were 
even more extraordinary. The black lashes that 
veiled them contrasted vividly with the pale 
gray of the pupils and auburn tint of his hair 
and this peculiarity with the thinness of 
his nose made them appear nearer together 
than measures permit in the principles of 
drawing. As to their expression, it was truly 
undefinable. When they wandered into space, 
an expression of vague melancholy and lan- 
guishing tenderness filled them with a misty 
light, but when fixed on some person or object, 
the eye-brows contracted, producing a perpen- 
dicular wrinkle in the forehead, the gray 
pupils became green, dotted with white spots 
and streaked with yellow fibers, the glance 
seemed piercing, almost wounding, then each 


THE EVIL EYE. 


15 


feature abruptly resumed its placidity, and this 
Mephisto again became a young man of the 
world, with apparently no thought beyond that 
of spending the season in Naples, and de- 
lighted at the near prospect of resting his feet 
on a less movable foundation than the deck 
of the Leopold. 

His dress was elegant, without attracting the 
eye by any conspicuous detail. It consisted of 
a dark blue coat, a black dotted cravat, the 
knot neither careless nor studied, a vest of a 
pattern similar to the coat, and light gray 
trousers that fell over a dainty boot. A plain 
gold chain was attached to his watch, and his 
eye glass was suspended from a flat silk cord, 
while in his neatly gloved hand he held a 
small twisted cane with a silver knob. 

He took a few steps forward, allowing his 
gaze to wander vaguely toward the approach- 
ing shore, where could be seen rolling carriages 
and the usual groups of idle people, for whom 
the arrival of a diligence or a steamer is an ever 
new and interesting spectacle, although already 
witnessed a thousand times. 

A fleet of small boats of all descriptions was 


l6 THE EVIL EYE. 

already leaving the pier for an assault on the 
Leopold, carrying a swarm of hotel couriers, 
cabmen, facchini and a variety of rogues, who 
consider a stranger as their legitimate prey. 
Each boat was endeavoring to outstrip the 
others, and the boatmen, according to custom, 
exchanged volleys of jeers and vociferations 
that might have frightened strangers not 
accustomed to the habits of the Neapolitan 
lower classes. 

The young man with auburn hair adjusted 
his eyeglasses on his nose to obtain a better 
view of the scene that was passing before his 
eyes, but his attention was soon turned from 
the sublime spectacle of the bay by the con- 
cert of cries arising from the flotilla and 
concentrated on the boat. The noise evidently 
annoyed him, for his eyebrows contracted, the 
wrinkle appeared in his forehead, and the gray 
of his pupils assumed a yellowish tint. 

Just then an unexpected foam-crested wave 
rolled in from the sea, passed under the 
steamer, raising it and allowing it to fall back 
heavily, then dashed on, breaking against the 
quay into a shower of spray, giving the sur- 


THE EVIL EYE. 


17 

prised promenaders a sudden bath and bringing 
the boats together with such violence that two 
or three facchini were precipitated into the 
water. The accident was not serious, for these 
rogues swim like fish or marine gods, and they 
reappeared a few seconds later, with hair 
clinging to their temples, ejecting the bitter 
water from their mouths and nostrils and evi- 
dently as astonished at their sudden plunge as 
must have been Telemachus, son of Ulysses, 
when Minerva, under the guise of the sage 
Mentor, hurled him from a high rock into the 
sea, to tear him from the love of Eucharis. 

At a respectful distance from this odd 
traveler near a pile of luggage, stood a small 
groom, a sort of old man of fifteen years, a 
gnome in livery resembling one of those be- 
ings dwarfed by the Chinese. His flat face, in 
which the nose was hardly visible, seemed to 
have been compressed from infancy, and his 
small eyes had that gentleness and softness 
certain naturalists find rn those of the toad. 
No gibbousness rounded his shoulders or 
swelled his chest, yet he gave the impression 
of being a hunchback, although one would have 


1 8 THE EVIL EYE. 

searched for the hump in vain. In a word, he 
was a very correct groom, who might have 
presented himself without molestation at the 
Ascot races or at Chantilly. All gentlemen 
riders would have accepted him on his bad 
shape. He was unpleasant to the sight, but, 
like his master, irreproachable of his kind. 

The steamer reached the quay, and after a 
final exchange of abuse, the porters shared the 
passengers and luggage, and took their differ- 
ent roads to the many hotels of Naples. 

The traveler with the eyeglass and his groom 
directed their steps toward the Hotel de Rome, 
followed by a phalanx of robust facchini, who 
made the pretences of panting and sweating 
under the weight of a hat box or a light pack- 
age in the naive hope of a larger tip, while 
four or five of their comrades, who displayed 
muscles as powerful as those of Hercules, so 
much admired at Studi, pushed a hand-cart in 
which were placed two trunks of medium size 
and moderate weight. 

When they had reached the hotel and the 
padron di casa had designated the apartments 
they were to occupy, the porters, although they 


THE EVIL EYE. 


19 


had received three times the price of their 
work, began to make frantic gesticulations and 
discourses, in which beseeching formula were 
mingled with threats in the most comical pro- 
portions. They all spoke at the same time with 
a frightful volubility, claiming more remunera- 
tion, and calling on Heaven to witness that 
they had been insufficiently recompensed for 
their fatigue. Paddy, who had remained alone 
with them, for his master, without heeding this 
turmoil, had already ascended the stairway — 
resembled a monkey surrounded by a pack of 
hounds. He tried to calm this storm by a 
short harangue in his maternal tongue, that is 
to say in English; but as this met with little 
success, he doubled up his fists, placed his arms 
across his chest, and assumed the most correct 
attitude of a boxer, to the great hilarity of the 
facchini. Then with a blow from his right, 
worthy of Adams or Tom Cribb, which landed 
on the chest of the giant of the band, he sent 
him sprawling on his back in the gutter. 

This exploit put the rest of the troop to 
flight; the colossus picked himself up slowly, 
badly shaken by his fall, and, without thinking 


20 


THE EVIL EYE. 


of taking revenge on Paddy, limped away, 
rubbing his hand on the spot where his body 
had come in contact with the lava ‘pavement, 
fully persuaded that a demon was concealed 
under the jacket of this dwarf only fit to ride a 
dog, and whom, he had expected to overthrow 
with a breath. 

The stranger summoned the padroii di casa^ 
and inquired if a letter addressed to M. Paul 
d’Aspremont had not already reached the 
Hotel de Rome. The landlord replied that a 
letter bearing that superscription had arrived a 
week previous and he hastened out in quest of it. 

The letter was enclosed in a thick envelope 
of cream-laid paper and sealed with aventur- 
ine wax. It was written in those slanting and 
angular characters denoting a high aristro- 
cratic education, and which young English 
girls of good families possess a little too 
uniformly. 

M. d’Aspremont opened this letter with a 
haste that denoted something more than 
curiosity, and read the following: 

“My dear Monsieur Paul: — We reached 
Naples two months ago. During the voyage, 


THE EVIL EYE. 


21 


which we took by easy stages, my uncle com- 
plained bitterly of the heat, the mosquitoes, the 
wine, butter, and beds. He declared that one 
must really be insane to leave a comfortable 
cottage, a few miles from London, and travel 
over dusty roads lined with detestable inns in 
which an honest English dog would not spend 
the night. But although grumbling, he accom- 
panied me, and I might have led him to the 
end of the world. His health is no worse and 
mine is better. 

We are installed on the sea shore in a white- 
washed house concealed in a sort of virgin 
forest of orange and lemon trees, myrtles, 
laurels, and other exotic vegetations. We 
enjoy a magnificent view from the terrace, 
and you will find a cup of tea or an iced 
lemonade every evening awaiting you. My 
uncle whom you have fascinated, I know not 
how, will be delighted to press your hand; and 
it is needless to add that your humble servant 
will be glad also, although you nearly cut her 
fingers off with your ring in bidding her good- 
bye on the Folkestone pier.” 

“ Alicia Ward.” 


22 


THE EVIL EYE. 


CHAPTER II. 

After dinner, Paul d’Aspremont called for a 
caleche. As there are always a number of these 
stationed around large hotels awaiting the trav- 
eler’s fancy, he was quickly accommodated. 
Neapolitan hack horses are thin enough to make 
Rozinante appear overloaded with flesh by 
contrast. Their scraggy heads, their ribs stand- 
ing out like the hoops of a tun, their flayed 
backbones, seem to implore the knife of the 
knacker as a favor, for the feeding of animals 
is regarded as a superfluous care by these indo- 
lent Southerners. The harness is usually brok- 
en or supplemented with ropes, and when 
the coachman gathers the reins and cracks his 
whip to start away one almost expects to see 
the horse vanish and the carriage dispel into 
smoke like Cinderella’s coach when returning 
from the ball after midnight, contrary to the 
fairy’s command. But nothing of the kind hap- 
pens; the jaded beasts stiffen their legs, and 
after a little urging, fall into a gallop which 
they keep up to the end of the journey. The 


THE EVIL EYE. 


23 


coachman communicates his ardor to them, and 
the lash of the whip awakens the last spark of 
life hidden in their carcasses. They paw, agi- 
iate the head, dilate the nostrils, prick up the 
ears, and assume an appearance of speed which 
the fleetest English trotter could not equal. 
How this phenomenon is accomplished and 
what power lends speed to these skeletons, we 
will not attempt to explain. But it is never- 
theless true that this miracle takes place daily 
in Naples and no one displays the least sur- 
prise. 

M. Paul d’Aspremont dashed through the 
compact crowd, grazing the fruit stands with 
their wreaths of lemons, the preserve and mac- 
aroni kitchens standing in the open air, the piles 
of sea fruit and a variety of other things scat- 
tered on the public road like bullets on an ar- 
tillery field. The lazzaroni lying in the shadow 
of the walls enveloped in their cloaks scarcely 
deigned to withdraw their feet to save them 
from the passing vehicles. From time to time, 
a corricole, balanced between its four large 
scarlet wheels and carrying an army of monks, 
nurses, facchini, and idlers, passed beside the 


24 


THE EVIL EYE. 


caleche, grazing the axle and enveloping it in a 
cloud of dust and clatter. The corricoles are 
now proscribed and their manufacture prohib- 
ited; but it is permitted to add a new body to 
old wheels, or new wheels to an old body, an 
ingenious means of preserving these odd vehi- 
cles, to the great satisfaction of amateurs of 
local coloring. 

Our traveler paid little attention to this pict- 
uresque and animated spectacle, which would 
certainly have absorbed a tourist who had not 
found a letter signed by Alicia W. at the Hotel 
de Rome. 

His gaze wandered over the limpid blue sea, 
where, in a brilliant light tinted by the distant 
amethyst and sapphire, could be distinguished 
the beautiful islands grouped in the shape of 
an open fan, at the entrance of the gulf, Capri, 
Ischia, Nisida, Procida, the harmonious names 
of which sound like Greek dactyls, but his soul 
was not there. It was flying on eagle’s wings 
toward Sorrente, toward a little white house 
buried in the verdure mentioned in Alicia’s let- 
ter. At this moment, M. d’Aspremont’s face 
had not that undefinable displeasing expres- 


THE EVIL EYE. 25 

sion which characterized it when no interior 
joy harmonized its incongruous perfections; it 
was beautiful and sympathetic, to use a word 
dear to Italians. The arch of the eyebrows 
was distended; the corners of the mouth not 
disdainfully drawn, and a tender light illumi- 
nated his calm eyes. Seeing him thus, one 
could easily guess the sentiments which seemed 
to be indicated by the half-tender, half-playful 
phrases written on the cream-laid paper. His 
originality, added to a great degree of distinc- 
tion, could not be displeasing to a young girl 
brought up by an indulgent old unde in the 
unrestrained English fashion. 

They soon passed Chiafa la Marinella, and 
the caleche rolled on into the country, on the 
road since replaced by a railway. A black 
dust, like pulverized coal, gave a Plutonic as- 
pect to the entire shore which is covered by a 
dazzling sky and lapped by a sea of the purest 
azure. It is the soot of Vesuvius, sifted by the 
wind, that sprinkles those shores, and makes 
the houses of Portici and Torre del Graco re- 
semble the factories of Birmingham. M. d’As- 
^ premont, however, did not trouble himself 


26 


THE EVIL EYE. 


about the contrast presented by the ebony 
earth and the sapphire sky; he was impatient 
to reach his destination. The most beautiful 
road is long when Miss Alicia awaits one at the 
end, and he had not seen her since the day 
he bade her adieu, at the Folkestone pier, six 
months ago. The sky and sea of Naples lose 
their magic on such a day. 

The caleche left the main road, and soon 
stopped before a gate formed by two white 
brick pillars surmounted by terra cotta urns, in 
which aloes expanded their leaves like blades 
of tin with dagger points. A small green 
wicket served as gate; the wall was replaced 
by a hedge of cactus, the shoots forming irreg- 
ular elbows, and their thorny arms inextricably 
entwined. 

Above the hedge three or four, enormous fig- 
trees spread their large metallic green leaves 
in compact masses with the vigor of African 
vegetation; a large parasol pine balanced its 
umbel, and through the interstices of this lux- 
uriant growth one could scarcely discern the 
facade of the house sparkling in white patches 
behind this thick curtain. 


THE EVIL EYE. 


27 


A dusky servant, with hair so thick and curly 
that it would have broken a comb, ran out at 
the noise of the caleche, opened the wicket 
and preceded M. d’Aspremont through a path 
of laurels, the branches caressing his cheeks 
with their flowers, and conducted him to the 
terrace where Miss Alicia Ward was taking tea 
in company with her uncle. 

Through a caprice quite natural in a young 
girl satiated of all the comforts and elegances, 
and perhaps also to tease her uncle, whose 
tastes she often ridiculed. Miss Ward had 
chosen this villa which had been untenanted 
for a number of ye^'s in preference to a civil- 
ized dwelling. In - this abandoned garden, 
almost returned to its state of nature, she found 
a wild poetry that pleased her; under the active 
climate of Naples, all had grown with pro- 
digious rapidity. Orange trees, myrtles, pome- 
granates, all had grown freely, and the branches 
having nothing to fear from the pruning knife, 
joined hands from one end of the avenue to 
the other, and even penetrated familiarly into 
the rooms through some btoken panes. It was 
not, as it might have been in the North, the 


28 


THE EVIL EYE. 


sadness of a deserted house, but the wild gaiety 
and happy petulance of nature when left to it- 
self in the South. In the absence of the master 
the exuberant vegetation was indulging in an 
excess of leaves, flowers, fruits and perfumes; 
it was recovering what men disputed it. 

When the Commodore — it was thus that 
Alicia familiarly called her uncle — saw this 
impenetrable thicket, through which it was as 
impossible to penetrate without the aid of an 
axe as through an American forest, he ex- 
claimed in dismay and declared that his niece 
was decidedly mad. But Alicia gravely prom- 
ised to have a passage cut from the gate to 
the drawing room door and from the drawing 
room to the terrace of sufficient width to allow 
the admittance of a tun of wine, the only con- 
cession she would make to positivism avun- 
culaire. The commodore resigned himself, for 
he could never resist his niece, and at this mo- 
ment he was seated opposite her on the terrace, 
drinking a large cup of rum, by little swallows, 
under pretext of tea. 

The terrace, which had principally charmed 
the young girl, was indeed very picturesque 





“AS PAUL D’ASPREMONT APPEARED ON THE TERRACE, ALICIA AROSE WITH A 

GLAD CRY.” 


THE EVIL EYE. 


29 


and deserves to be described, for Paul d’Aspre- 
mont will often return to it, and we must paint 
the surroundings of the scenes we relate. 

This terrace dominated the road and was 
reached by steps of large disjointed flags, 
through which prospered a healthy wild growth 
of plants. Four uneven columns, saved from 
some antique ruin and whose lost cornices 
had been replaced by stone copings, supported 
a lattice work of willows intertwined and 
covered with vines, w'hile the decaying parapet 
leaned over and hung in piece-meal among the 
plants. At the foot of the walls the India fig- 
tree, the aloes and arbutus grew in charming 
disorder, and beyond the thicket the view ex- 
tented over undulations dotted with white villas 
to the purple silhouette of Vesuvius, or lost 
itself in the blue immensity of the sea. 

As Paul d’Aspremont appeared on the ter- 
race, Alicia arose with a glad cry and came 
to meet him. Paul took her hand in his, but 
the young girl quickly raised her imprisoned 
fingers to his lips with a movement full of 
childish playfulness and naive coquetry. 

The commodore tried to raise himself on his 


30 


THE EVIL EYE. 


gouty limbs and succeeded after a few gri- 
maces of pain that contrasted comically with 
the jubilant expression that spread over his 
large face. Then, approaching the charming 
young couple with alacrity, he grasped 
Paul’s hand and pressed his fingers tightly to- 
gether in his large palm, this being the su- 
preme expression of old British cordiality. 

Miss Alicia Ward belonged to that type of 
English brunettes which realizes an ideal whose 
details are a contradiction of each other, that 
is a skin of such dazzling whiteness as to make 
snow, lilies, alabaster, virgin wax, and all that 
serve as white comparisons to poets appear 
yellow; cherry lips and hair as black as night 
or a raven’s wing. The effect of this op- 
position is irresistible and produces a wonder- 
ful beauty, the equivalent of which is found 
nowhere else. 

A few Circassians brought up from infancy 
in the seraglio may perhaps possess this 
miraculous complexion, but for this we have 
only the exaggerations of Oriental poetry and 
the paintings of Lewis representing the harems 


THE EVIL EYE. 


3 


of Cairo. Alicia was assuredly the most per- 
fect type of this style of beauty. 

The oval of her head, the incomparable 
purity of her complexion, the transparent 
delicate nose, the dark blue eyes fringed by 
long lashes that fluttered like black butterflies 
on her rosy cheeks when she lowered her eye- 
lids, the lips of dazzling red, the glossy waves 
of hair that fell like satin ribbons around her 
cheeks and swan-like neck gave a stamp of 
truth to those romantic faces of Maclise, which 
seemed so like charming impostures at the Ex- 
position Ufnversolle. 

She wore a grenadine dress, embroidered 
with red palms that harmonized charmingly 
with the grains of coral that adorned her hair 
and hung about her wrists and neck; and five 
bangles suspended to a coral pearl trembled 
in the lobes of her delicate ears. Before con- 
demning this abuse of coral, remember that we 
are at Naples, and that the fishermen come 
from the sea expressly to offer you these 
branches which are reddened by the air. 

Having given Miss Alicia Ward’s portrait, 
we must — if only for the contrast — at least 


32 


THE EVIL EYE. 


give a caricature of the commodore in the 
manner of Hogarth. 

The commodore was past sixty and pre- 
sented the peculiarity of having a uniformly 
enflamed crimson face, on which contrasted 
snowy eyebrows and muttonchop whiskers of 
the same collor, giving him the appearance of 
an old Red-skin tatooed with chalk. The 
ardent Italian sun had added a few shades to 
this fiery coloring and the commodore involun- 
tarily reminded one of a crisp almond im- 
bedded in cotton. He was dressed from head 
to foot; coat, vest, pantaloons and gaiters in 
reddish gray vicugna wool cloth which the 
tailor must have given his word of honor was 
the most fashionable shade worn, and this was 
perhaps true enough. Notwithstanding his fiery 
complexion and grotesque garments, the com- 
modore did not by any means present a vulgar 
appearance. His rigorous neatness, irreproach- 
able bearing and stately manners proclaimed 
the perfect gentleman, although exteriorly he 
had much in common with the vaudeville 
Englishmen as parodied by Hoffmann or Le- 
vassor; his character could be summed up in 


THE EVIL EYE. 


33 


this: the worship of his niece and drinking of 
large quantities of Porto and Jamaica rum, to 
“entertain the radical moisture,” according to 
Corporal Trim’s method. 

“ See how well and pretty I am now!” ex- 
claimed Alicia. “ Look at my color; I have 
not asjnuch as uncle yet, it is true, but I hope 
I never shall. Just see the red here,” she con- 
tinued raising her taper finger to her cheek, 
“real red. And beside I have grown fleshy 
and you can no longer feel the hollows in 
my shoulders. O! how that used to mortify 
me, do you remember? when I went to balls. 
Must not a girl be a great coquette to deprive 
herself of her fiance’s society for three whole 
months that he may find her fresh and beauti- 
ful after the separation?” 

Uttering this tirade in that playful tone 
which was peculiar to her, Alicia stood before 
Paul as if challenging a close scrutiny 

“Indeed,” declared the Commodore, “she is 
as robust and beautiful as those girls ofProcide 
who carry Greek vases on their heads.” 

“Assuredly, Commodore,” replied Paul; 
“ Miss Alicia is not more beautiful, that is im- 


34 


THE EVIL EYE. 


possible, but she is certainly in better health 
than when, through coquetry as she pretends, 
she imposed this painful separation on me.” 

While he spoke, his gaze rested with a 
strange fixity on the young girl, posing before 
him. Suddenly the pretty rosy colors she 
boasted of faded from her cheeks as the blush 
of night fades from the mountain snows when 
the sun sinks behind the horizon, she placed a 
trembling hand on her heart, and her charming 
lips paled and contracted. 

Paul and the Commodore arose 'in alarm, 
but Alacia’s pretty colors were already return- 
ing and she made an effort to smile. 

“I have promised you a cup of tea or a sher- 
bet,” she said gaily, “and although an English 
girl, I advise you to take the sherbet. Snow is 
preferable to hot water in this country border- 
ing on Africa, whence we get a direct south- 
east wind.” 

They placed themselves around the stone 
table under the vine branch ceiling. The sun 
had sunk into the sea, and the bluish day called 
night at Naples succeeded the yellow day. 
The moon dotted the terrace with silvery 


THE EVIL EYE. 


35 


patches through the breaks of the foliage, the 
sea rustled on the shore like a kiss, and from 
afar could be heard the beating of the tabor in 
accompaniment of the tarentelle. 

The hour of separation came. Vice, the 
swarthy servant, made her appearance carry- 
ing a large lantern to guide Paul through the 
labyrinth of the garden. While serving the 
sherbet and snow-water, she had looked on the 
new-comer with an expression of mixed 
curiosity and fear. The result of her examin- 
ation was evidently unfavorable to Paul, for 
his brow, already as yellow as a cigar, 
darkened still more, and now as she accompa- 
nied him to the gate, she pointed her index and 
little finger toward him, and brought the two 
remaining fingers to bear on the thumb, as if to 
form a cabalistic sign. 


3 


36 


THE EVIL EYE. 


CHAPTER III. 

A LICIA’S friend returned to the Hotel de 
Rome by the same road he had come. 
The beauty of the night was incomparable; the 
pure brilliant moon was shedding a long train 
of silver spangles on the transparent azure of 
the water, and the perpetual murmur of the 
moving waves multiplied the splendor. Out 
on the sea the fishermen’s boats with their 
lanterns of flaming oakum fixed at the bow 
dotted the water with red stars and dragged 
scarlet traces behind them; and the smoke of 
Vesuvius, which is white in the day-time, had 
changed into a luminous column and also threw 
its reflection on the gulf. At this moment the 
bay presented that aspect which seems so 
unnatural to Northern eyes, and which we see 
in those Italian water colors enframed in black 
so much in vogue a few years ago, and more 
faithful than we might imagine in their crude 
exaggeration. 

A few belated lazzaroni still wandered on 
the shore, unwittingly moved by the magical 


THE EVIL EYE. 


37 


spectacle, and their large, black eyes plunged 
into the bluish expanse. Others were seated 
on wrecked boats, singing snatches from Lucia, 
or the popular romance then in vogue, “ Ti 
voglio beri assi!' in a voice that might have 
been envied by tenors engaged at a hundred 
thousand francs. Like all meridional cities, 
Naples goes to bed late; yet the lights were 
going out one by one, and the lottery offices, 
with their festoons of colored paper, their fav- 
orite numbers and brilliant lights, alone were 
open, ready to receive the money of the capri- 
cious players, who should take the fancy of 
placing a few carlins or ducats on a dreamed-of 
lucky number. 

Paul went to bed immediately on reaching 
the hotel, drew the curtains of netting over 
him and was soon sound asleep. Like all 
travelers after a sea voyage, though motionless, 
his bed seemed to roll and toss as if the Hotel 
de Rome had been the Leopold. This impres- 
sion made him dream that he was still on the 
sea, looking at the pier where Alicia stood, ap- 
pearing very pale beside her florid uncle, and 
making signs to him with her hand not to land. 


38 


THE EVIL EYE. 


The young girl’s face expressed deep pain, and 
in repulsing him she seemed to obey, against 
her will, an imperious fatality. This dream, 
which assumed extreme reality from the recent 
meeting, grieved him so that he awoke with a 
start and was relieved to find himself in his 
room, in which flickered a small porcelain night 
lamp, besieged by buzzing mosquitoes. That 
he might not again become the victim of this 
painful dream, Paul struggled against sleep, 
and went over all the childishly charming 
scenes of his meeting and courtship of Alicia. 

He again saw the redbrick house, overgrown 
with briars and honey suckles, which Miss Alicia 
and her uncle inhabited at Richmond, and 
where he had been introduced through the 
medium of one of those letters of introduction, 
which rarely secure more than an invitation to 
dinner. He remembered the white India mus- 
lin dress, ornamented by a simple knot of rib- 
bon, which Alicia, who had just returned from 
boarding-school, wore on that day, the branch 
of jessamine that waved in the cascades of her 
hair like a flower from Ophelia’s crown ; the 
velvety blue eyes, the slightly parted lips, dis- 


THE EVIL EYE. 


39 


playing small, ivory teeth ; the delicate neck 
stretched like that of a listening bird, and her 
sudden blushes when the young Frenchman’s 
gaze met her own. 

The drawing-room, with its dark wainscot- 
ting and green cloth hangings, ornamented 
with engravings of fox-hunting and steeple- 
chasing, in the glaring colorings of the florid 
English style, reproduced itself in his brain as 
in a dark chamber. The piano displayed its 
row of keys like the teeth of a dowager. The 
chimney, festooned with a chain of Irish ivy, 
appeared bright and shining, with its newly- 
polished metal shell ; the oaken arm chairs, 
with carved legs, opened their morocco- 
covered arms; the carpet displayed its rose 
leaxes, and Alicia, trembling like a leaf, sang 
Anna Bolena’s romance, “ deh non voler cos- 
tringere,"' in the most charming false voice in 
the world, which Paul, none the less agitated, 
accompanied a little out of tune, while the 
Commodore, overcome by a laborious diges- 
tion and more crimson than ever, dozed, allow- 
ing a colossal copy of the Times to slip at his 
feet. 


40 


THE EVIL EYE. 


Then the scene changed : Paul had become 
more intimate and had been invited to spend a 
few days in their Lincolnshire home, an ancient 
feudal castle with embattled towers and Gothic 
windows half concealed by an immense ivy, 
but possesing all modern comforts in the inte- 
rior. This castle stood at the extremity of a 
lawn where the carefully rolled and watered 
grass was as level as velvet; a drive of yellow 
encircled the sward and served as a riding 
school for Miss’ Alicia, who, mounted on a 
rough Scotch pony that kind Sir Edward 
Landseer loved to paint and to which he gave 
an almost human expression, took her daily 
circular promenade ordered by her physican, 
accompanied by Paul on a bay horse, lent 
him by the Commodore. 

And again a light boat glided over the pond, 
displacing the water lilies and startling the 
king-fisher from beneath the silvery foliage of 
willows. Alicia rowed and Paul guided the 
rudder; how pretty she was in that golden 
aureole which the rays of the sunlight pene- 
trating her sun-hat described around her head! 
She leaned back at every stroke, pressing the 


THE EVIL EYE. 


41 


varnished tip of her ^ray boot against the 
board of the seat; Miss Ward did not have one 
of those Andalusian feet, short and round as 
smoothing irons, which we admire in Spain, 
but her ankle was slender, her instep arched 
and the sole of her buskin, although a little 
long, perhaps, was barely two fingers in width. 

The Commodore remained on the shore, not 
because of his grandeur, but on account of his 
weight, which would have swamped the frail 
bark; he awaited his niece at the landing, and 
with paternal care threw a cloak around her 
shoulders through fear she might take cold; 
then after mooring the boat safely they 
returned to the castle together for lunch. How 
delightful it was to see Alicia, who usually ate 
as little as a bird, sink her pearly teeth into a 
rosy slice of Yorkshire ham, thin as a sheet of 
paper, and nibble at a roll while throwing the 
crumbs to the gold fishes. 

Happy days pass quickly! Paul put off his 
departure from week to week, and the beauti- 
ful verdure of the park was beginning to as- 
sume saffron tints, and white mists arose from 

the pond in the mornings. In spite of the gar- 
3 


42 


THE EVIL EYE. 


dener’s rake, which was kept busily at work, 
the dead leaves strewed the sandy drives, mill- 
ions of small frozen pearls scintillated on the 
sward, and at night they could hear the quar- 
reling of the magpies as they flew over the 
summits of the denuded trees. 

Alicia paled under Paul’s restless gaze, and 
only retained two feverish red spots on the 
summit of her cheeks. She was often chilled, 
and the brightest and warmest fire could not 
bring warmth back to her delicate body. The 
doctor appeared uneasy, and at last advised 
Miss Ward to spend the winter in Pisa and the 
spring at Naples. 

Family affairs had recalled Paul to France, 
while Alicia and the Commodore were making 
preparations to go to Italy, and the separation 
had taken place at Folkestone. No word had 
been spoken, but Alicia looked on Paul as her 
fiance, and the Commodore had given the 
young man’s hand a significant pressure, such 
as might be given a son-in-law’s hand only. 

After a separation of six months, which had 
seemed like so many centuries in his impa- 
tience, Paul had the happiness of finding Alicia 


THE EVIL EYE. 


43 


cured of her languor and radiant with health. 
What had still remained of the child in the 
young girl had disappeared, and he thought 
with delight that the Commodore could now 
raise no objection to his niece’s marriage when 
asked for her hand. 

Lulled by these pleasant reflections, he again 
fell asleep, and did not open his eyes until day- 
light. Naples was already beginning its up- 
roar; the ice-water vendors called out their 
wares, the cooks offered their viands to the 
passers-by on the end of a pole, and the lazy 
housekeepers leaned out of the window and 
lowered their provision basket by means of a 
rope, pulling it back again filled with tomatoes, 
fish, and enormous quarters of pumpkin. Pub- 
lic writers in rusty black coats and pen behind 
the ear, took their seats at their stands; money 
lenders placed their ducats in piles on small 
tables; the cabmen lashed their nags in quest 
of matutinal customers, and the Angelus rang 
joyously from every bell in the neighborhood. 

Paul enveloped himself in his dressing gown, 
and leaned his elbows on the railing of the bal- 
cony. From the window he could see Santa 


44 


* THE EVIL EYE. 


Lucia, the fort de ’Oeuf, and an immense ex- 
panse of sea that stretched to Vesuvius and 
the blue promontory where the vast Casini de 
Castellamare was whitening in the morning 
light, and the villas of Sorrente stood in relief 
against the distant blue heavens. 

The sky was pure, except for a light white 
cloud that advanced toward the city, driven by 
a faint breeze; Paul fixed the strange gaze we 
have already remarked on this cloud, and his 
eyebrows contracted. Other masses of vapor 
immediately joined the unique flake, and soon 
a thick veil of clouds spread its black folds 
above the Chateau de Saint Elme. Large 
drops fell on the lava pavement, and in a few 
minutes changed into one of those diluvian 
showers that turn the streets of Naples into so 
many torrents, carrying dogs and even donkeys 
into the gutters. The amazed crowd quickly 
dispersed in search of shelter; the open air 
shops were hastily removed, though not with- 
out losing a portion of their wares, and the 
rain, now mistress of the field, ran down in 
white waves on the deserted quay of Santa 
Lucia. 


THE EVIL EYE. 


45 


The gigantic facchini to whom Paddy had 
applied such a vigorous blow had not followed 
the general stampede, but was leaning against 
a wall under the protection of an overhanging 
balcony, looking at Paul d’Aspremont in a pro- 
foundly meditative manner and muttering in 
an angry tone. 

“ The captain of the Leopold should have 
cast this forestier into the sea,” and thrusting 
his hand inside his coarse linen shirt, he placed 
it on a bundle of amulets suspended from his 
neck by a cord. 


46 


THE EVIL EYE. 


CHAPTER IV. 


HE storm was of short duration, and the 



1 sky soon cleared. The ardent rays of the 
sun dried up the last traces of the shower in a 
few minutes and the crowd reassembled joy- 
ously on the quay. But the porter Timberio 
did not alter his opinion in regard to the young 
French stranger and prudently removed his 
effects out of sight of the hotel window. A 
few lazzaroni expressed their astonishment 
when they saw him leave his excellent station 
and choose a less favorable one. 

“ Whoever wants it, is welcome to it, he re- 
plied shaking his head mysteriously; “ 1 know 
what I know.” 

Paul breakfasted in his own apartments for 
either through timidity or disdain he always 
shunned public gaze, and while awaiting the 
proper hour to call on Miss Ward, he visited 
the Studj museum. He admired everything in 
a listless way: the precious collection of Cam- 
panian vases, the bronzes dug from the ruins of 
Pompeiii the verdigris brazen Greek helmets, 


THE EVIL EYE. 


47 


each still containing the head of the soldier who 
had worn it, the piece of hardened clay retain- 
ing like a mold the impression of the charming 
torso of a young woman surprised by the erup- 
tion at the country house of Arrius Diomedes, 
the prodigious muscles of the Hercules Farnese, 
the Flora, the archaic Minerva, the two Bal- 
bus, and the magnificent statue of Aristides, 
the most perfect piece left us from antiquity. 
But a lover is not an enthusiastic admirer of 
art; to him the outline of one feature of the 
adored one is worth all the Greek or Roman 
marbles. 

Having succeeded in passing two or three 
hours away at the Studj, Paul now hastened to 
his caleche and was driven in the direction of 
Miss Ward’s villa. With that appreciation of 
passion which characterizes Southern nature 
the driver urged his nags to their utmost speed 
and soon brought them to a standstill before the 
pillars surmounted by vases of tropical plants 
which we have already described. The same 
servant opened the wicket; her hair still coiled 
in unconquerable frizzes, dressed as on the pre- 
vious day in a coarse linen chemise with em- 


48 


THE EVIL EYE. 


broidered sleeves, a skirt of heavy fabric, 
striped crosswise, like those worn by the 
women of Procida, and her neck mantled by a 
necklace of colored strings; she wore no stock- 
ings, and the bare foot she placed firmly in the 
dust might have been admired by a sculptor. 
In addition to this a bunch of horn and coral 
trinkets suspended from a black string rested 
on her breast, and to her evident satisfaction, 
Paul at once fixed his gaze on these baubles 
of singular form. 

Miss Alicia was on the terrace, her favor- 
ite spot. The young girl was nonchalantly 
rocking herself in an Indian hammock of red 
and white cotton, ornamented with bird feathers 
and hung to two of the columns that supported 
the vine branch ceiling. She wore a morning 
gown of soft China silk which she was crushing 
pitilessly. Her feet, which peeped through the 
meshes of the hammock, were incased in slip- 
pers of aloes fibers, and her beautiful bare arms 
were crossed above her head in the attitude of 
Cleopatra, for although it was but the begin- 
ning of May, the heat was intense and swarms 


THE EVIL EYE. 


49 


of grasshoppers were singing in chorus beneath 
the neighboring thicket. 

The Commodore, in the dress of a planter and 
seated on a willow chair, was pulling in meas- 
ured time on the cord that set the hammock in 
motion. 

A third personage completed the group; this 
was the Count of Altavilla, an elegant young 
Neapolitan, whose presence brought that frown 
upon Paul’s brow which gave his physiognomy 
an expression of diabolical wickedness. 

The Count was, in fact, one of those men 
whom we do not like to see near the women 
we love. His tall figure was in perfect propor- 
tion; his jet black hair massed in abundant 
clusters encircled a well formed and smooth 
brow; a spark of the Neapolitan sun glittered in 
his eye, and his wide, strong teeth, as pure as 
pearls, seemed still more dazzling in contrast 
with the vivid red of his lips and the olive tint 
of his skin. The only criticism a fastidious 
taste could have made against the Count was 
that he was too handsome. 

As to his clothes, Altavilla ordered them 
from London, and the most severe dandy would 


50 


THE EVIL EYE. 


have approved his appearance. There was 
nothing Italian in his toilet except shirt but- 
tons of too great value, which betrayed the 
very natural taste for this Southern child of 
jewels. Perhaps anywhere but at Naples one 
might have remarked as of mediocre taste 
the double clusters of coral branches, the hands 
of Vesuvius lava with bent fingers brandishing a 
dagger, dogs with outstretched paws, black and 
white horns, and other trinkets of the same kind 
dangling from a common ring attached to his 
watch chain ; but a walk in the Rue de Tolede, or 
to the Villa Reale, would have been sufficient to 
convince anyone that the Count was not at all 
eccentric in wearing these odd gewgaws so 
conspicuously. 

When Paul d’Aspremont had been presented 
the Count, at Miss Ward’s urgent request, sang 
one of those delicious Neapolitan melodies by 
some unknown author, one stanza of which 
if written by a popular musician, would suffice 
to make the fortune of an opera. To those 
who have not heard them on the shores of Chi- 
aja, or on the pier, when sung by a lazzarone, 
a fisherman, or a trovatelle, the romances of 


THE EVIL EYE. 


51 


Gordigiani may give some idea of their sweet- 
ness. They are composed of a sigh of the wind, 
a ray of moonlight, a waft of perfume from the 
orange tree, and a pulsation of the heart. 

Alicia, in her pretty, false English voice, fol- 
lowed the air she wished to retain, now and 
then making a friendly little nod to Paul, who 
looked at her with ill-concealed bad humor, 
annoyed by the presence of this handsome 
young man. 

Suddenly one of the cords of the hammock 
broke, and six hands were simultaneously out- 
stretched toward Alicia, but she had slipped to 
the ground without injury and was already on 
her feet, though her cheeks flushed deeply 
through confusion. 

“ How singular!” exclaimed the Commodore, 
“ I tried the ropes myself, and Alicia weighs 
no more than a humming bird.” 

The Count shook his head mysteriously, he 
evidently attributed the breaking of the rope 
to an entirely different cause, not considering 
the young girl’s weight sufficient to cause the 
rupture, but as a well-bred man, he remained 


\ 


4 


52 


THE EVIL EYE. 


silent and merely toyed with the cluster of 
.trinkets attached to his chain. 

Like all men who become moody and savage 
in the presence of a person whom they regard 
as a formidable rival, instead of redoubling in 
amiability and brilliancy, Paul d’Aspremont, 
although a man of the world, could not conceal 
his ill-humor. He replied in monosyllables 
only, allowed the conversation to drop, and 
whenever his gaze was directed toward Alta- 
villa, h'is eyes assumed their most sinister 
expression, and the yellow fibers writhed in 
the gray transparency of his pupils like water 
serpents in the depth of a pond. 

Each time Paul’s glance fell on him, the 
Count, by an apparently mechanical move- 
ment, plucked a flower from the vase at his 
side and threw it in such a way as to intercept 
the irritated glance. 

“What do you mean by despoiling my vases 
in that way?” cried Miss Ward, when she 
noticed his action. “What harm have my 
flowers done you that you should decapitate 
them?” 

“Oh! nothing, I assure you. Miss Ward; it is 


THE EVIL EYE. 


53 


an involuntary trick/’ replied Altavilla as he 
cut off a magnificent rose with his nail and 
sent it to rejoin the others. 

“You annoy me terribly,” rejoined Alicia 
“and you have unwittingly come in conflict 
with one of my manias. I have never plucked 
a flower. A bouquet inspires me with a sort of 
horror; they are dead flowers, corpses of roses, 
vervain or periwinkles whose perfume pos- 
sesses something sepulchral to me.” 

“To expiate the murder I have just com- 
mitted,” said the Count bowing, “I will send 
you a hundred baskets of living flowers.” 

Paul had arisen and was rolling the brim of 
his hat as if meditating his departure. 

“What, you are already going?” cried Alicia 
in surprise. 

“I have letters to write, important letters,” 
he replied. 

“Oh! the hateful word you have just uttered!” 
explained the young girl with a pretty pout. 

“How can you have important letters to 
write when they are not addressed to me?” 

“Don’t go, Paul,” said the Commodore, “I 
have arranged a plan in my head for the even- 


54 


THE EVIL EYE. 


ing, subject to my niece’s approval; we shall go 
and drink a glass of water from the Santa 
Lucia fountain, it smells of rotten eggs, but it 
is an excellent appetizer; then we shall go and 
eat a dozen or two of oysters, red and white, 
at the fish-market, dine under a vine-arbor in 
some good Neapolitan osteria, drink Falerne 
and Lacryma-Christi and end the day by a visit 
to Signor Pulcinella. The count will explain 
the witticisms of the dialect.” 

This plan appeared to offer little induce- 
ment to Paul, and he took his leave with a 
cold bow. 

Altavilla remained a few minutes longer, 
but as Alicia, who was annoyed by Paul’s de- 
parture, did not favor the Commodore’s pro- 
ject, he also took his leave. 

Two hours later, Alicia received an im- 
mense quantity of flower vases, filled with the 
rarest plants, and what surprised her still more, 
a monster pair of Sicilian ox-horns, trans- 
parent as jasper and polished like agate, 
measuring three feet in length and terminating 
in menacing black points. The magnificent 
setting of gilded bronze was so arranged that 


THE EVIL EYE. 55 

they could be placed as an ornament on the 
chimney, a bracket, or a cornice. 

Vice, who assisted the messenger to unpack 
both the flowers and horns seemed to under- 
stand the meaning and value of this odd 
present. 

Placing this superb crescent — which might 
have been torn from the head of the divine 
bull that supported Europa — in a conspicuous 
place, on the stone table, she said in a tone of 
satisfaction. 

“ We are now in a good state of defense.” 

“What do you mean. Vice?” asked Alicia. 

“ Nothing, unless it is that the French gen- 
tleman has very singular eyes.” she replied. 


56 


THE EVIL EYE. 


CHAPTER V. 

D inner hour was long passed, and the 
coal fire that turned the kitchen of the 
hotel into a Vesuvius crater during the day was 
slowly dying out under the iron cover. The 
bright pans had been replaced on their re- 
spective nails and shone in rows like the 
shields on the planking of an ancient trireme; 
a yellow brass lamp, like those found in the 
ruins of Pompeii, was suspended from the cen- 
ter beam of the ceiling and illuminated the 
middle of the vast kitchen, leaving the corners 
almost in obscurity. 

The luminous rays fell from above with play- 
ful shadows and picturesque lights on a group 
of characteristic figures gathered around a 
much furrowed heavy wooden table occupying 
the center of the large room whose walls, of 
that bitumen so dear to painters of the Cara- 
vage school, were sadly defaced by the smoke 
of culinary preparations. 

Indeed, the P^spagnolet and Salvator Rosa, 
in their strong love of the true, would not have 


THE EVIL EYE. 


57 




disdained the models gathered there by hazard, 
or, to be more exact, through a habit of every 
evening. 

To begin with there was the chef Virgilio 
Falsacappa, a very important personage of 
colossal stature and formidable stoutness, who 
might have passed for one of the colleagues of 
Vitellius, if instead of a white linen vest he had 
worn a Roman toga with a purple border. His 
prominent features seemed a serious caricature 
of certain types of ancient medals; dark and 
heavy projecting eyebrows crowned a pair of 
eyes cut like those of a mask ; an enormous 
nose threw its shadow over a large mouth 
which was armed with three rows of teeth 
like the mouth of a shark, and his chin was 
adorned by a dimple in which he might 
have buried his fist and joined to a neck of 
athletic vigor, furrowed with veins and muscles, 
by a dew-lap as powerful as that of the bull 
Farnese. Two tufts of side-whiskers, each of 
which would have furnished enough jpeard for 
a miner, enframed this large face, marbled in 
violent tints; crisp shining black hair, streaked 
with silver threads wreathed on his head in thin 

4 


58 


THE EVIL EYE. 


short curls, and his neck, gathered in three 
enormous folds at the nape, overhung the collar 
of his vest. In the lobes of his ears, which 
were raised by protruding jaws capable of 
crushing an ox daily, shone silver earrings as 
large as the disk of the moon. Such was Mai- 
tre Virgilio Falsacappa, who, with his apron 
turned up over the hips and knife plunged into 
a wooden case, resembled an executioner rather 
than a cook. 

Next came Timberio, the porter whose gym- 
nastic feats incident to his profession and sober 
habits were recompensed by a handful of half- 
cooked macaroni sprinkled with cacio-cavello, 
a slice of black bread and a glass of snow 
water. He was now in a relative state of ema- 
ciation, although if well-fed he certainly would 
have attained the emboupohit of Falsacappa, for 
his gigantic frame had been built to support 
an enormous weight of flesh. His costume 
consisted of a pair of drawers, a long coat of 
brown cloth and a rough sailor cloak thrown 
over his shoulders. 

Leaning on the edge of the table was Scaz- 
ziga, the driver of the caleche hired by M. Paul 


THE EVIL EYE. 


59 


d’Aspremont. He also presented a striking 
physiognomy; his intelligent irregular features 
bore an expression of naive craftiness; a smile 
played on his mocking lips at command, and 
the smoothness of'his manners showed that he 
lived in perpetual contact with the higher class 
of people; his clothes, bought in second hand 
shops, simulated a species of livery of which he 
was extremely proud and which, in his opinion, 
placed a great social distance between himself 
and the savage Timberio. His conversation 
was intermingled with French and English 
words that did not always convey the meaning 
intended, but which none the less excited the 
admiration of the scullions and other kitchen 
servants, who were astonished at so much 
knowledge. 

A little apart from the rest were two young 
girls whose features, though coarser, recalled 
the well-known type seen on Syracusan coins: 
A low brow, straight nose, somewhat thick lips, 
strong chin, bands of blue black hair, coiled 
into a mass at the back of the head, the brown 
neck, contracted by the custom of carrying 
burdens on the head, encircled by a triple 


6o 


THE EVIL EYE. 


necklace of coral. Many would have over- 
looked or scorned these poor girls, who pre- 
served unmixed the blood of the pure types 
of ancient Greece, but an artist at a first glance 
would have opened his sketch book and 
sharpened his pencils. 

You have perhaps seen that painting of 
Murillo’s in Marechal Soult’s gallery, if so it 
will save us the trouble of describing the three 
or four curly heads of the little scullions 
who completed the group. The assembly were 
treating a grave question; they were discussing 
M. Paul d’Aspremont, the French traveler 
brought on the last steamer, and the kitchen 
was passing judgment on him. 

“ Follow my reasoning well,” said Timberio, 
pausing between each phrase like a popular 
actor to give the audience time to weigh his 
words, and give its assent or raise objections, 
“ The Leopold is an honest Tuscan ship, against 
which we can raise no objections, unless it is 
that it carries too many English heretics” 

“ English heretics pay liberally,” interrupted 
Scazziga, whom the generous tips of his cus- 
tomers had made tolerant. 


THE EVIL EYE. 


6l 


“ No doubt ” retorted the porter testily, 
“ but the least a heretic can do when a Chris- 
tian works for him is to reward him liberally; 
it lessens the humiliation.” 

“ Carrying a forestier in my caleche is no 
humiliation to me. I am not a beast of bur- 
den as you are, Timberio.” 

“Was I not baptized as well as you?” cried 
the porter, his brow darkening, and closing 
his fist threateningly. 

“Let Timberio speak!” expostulated the 
assembly in chorus, fearing this interesting 
dissertation would end in a quarrel. 

“ I admit that the weather was perfect when 
the Leopold entered port,” resumed the soothed 
orator. 

“ We admit it,” assented the chef with 
majestic condescension. 

“ The sea was as smooth as glass, yet an 
enormous wave shook Gennaro’s bark so rudely 
that he fell into the water with two or three of 
his companions. Was that natural? Gennaro is 
as sure-footed as any sailor, and he can dance 
the tarentella on the cross-yard, without so 
much as a balancing pole.” 


62 


THE EVIL EYE. 


“ He had perhaps taken too much Asprino,” 
objected Scazziga, the rationalist of the as- 
sembly. 

“He had not even drunk a glass of lemon- 
ade,” said Timberio, “but there was a gentle- 
man on board the steamer who looked at him 
in a certain way — do you understand?” 

“Oh! perfectly,” exclaimed the chorus, ex- 
tending the index and little finger with admira- 
ble unison. 

“And that gentleman,” added Timberio, “is 
no other than M. Paul d’Aspremont.” 

“The one who occupies number 3, and to 
whom I sent his dinner on a tray?” said the 
chef. 

“Precisely,” replied the youngest and pret- 
tiest of the servants. “I never saw a traveler 
more unsociable, disagreeable and haughty. 
He never notices me either by word or look, 
and yet all gentlemen here consider me worth 
a compliment.” 

“You deserve more than that, Gelsomina, my 
dear,” said Timberio gallantly, “but you may 
consider yourself fortunate not to have at- 
tracted his attention.” 


THE EVIL EYE. 


63 


“You are a great deal too superstitious,” ob- 
jected the skeptic Scazziga, who had become 
slightly Voltarian through his relations with 
strangers and foreigners. 

“By dint of associating with heretics you will 
end by losing faith even in Saint Janvier,” re- 
torted Timberio. 

“Because Gennaro allowed himself to fall 
into the water is no reason to suppose that M. 
d’Aspremont possesses the influence you at- 
tribute to him,” continued Scazziga, stoutly de- 
fending his customer. 

“Do you require more proofs? I saw him 
this morning at his window with his eyes fixed 
on a cloud no bigger than the feather that 
escapes from a pillow. Black vapors immedi- 
ately gathered, and it rained so hard that dogs 
could drink standing.” 

But Scazziga shook his head, still uncon- 
vinced. 

“Beside, the groom is no better than his mas- 
ter,” continued Timberio, “and the monkey 
must have some understanding with the devil 
to knock me to the ground; I, who could kill 
him with a fillip.” 


64 


THE EVIL EYE. 


“I am of Timberio’s opinion,” said the chef 
majestically. “The stranger eats but little; he 
sent back untouched the stuffed zuchettes, 
fried chicken and macaroni with tomato 
sauce, which I prepared with my own hands! 
What strange secret is hidden under this mod- 
eration? Why should a rich man deprive him- 
self of dainty dishes and take nothing but egg 
soup and a slice of cold meat?” 

“And he has red hair,” said Gelsomina, pass- 
ing her fingers through the black forest cf her 
bands. 

“And his eyes project slightly,” continued 
Pepina, the other servant. 

“They are too near the nose,” added Tim- 
berio. 

“And the wrinkle between his eyebrows is 
in the form of a horse-shoe,” concluded the 
formidable Virgilio Falsacappa; “he is, there- 
fore—” 

“ Don’t utter the word, it is unnecessary,” 
cried the chorus, minus Scazziga, who was still 
incredulous; “ we shall keep ourselves on our 
guard.” 

“ And to think that the police would make it 


THE EVIL EYE. 


65 


unpleasant for me,” said Timberio, “ if, by 
chance, I allowed a trunk weighing three 
hundred pounds to fall on the head of that 
forestier o{ misfortune!” 

“ Scazziga is very brave to convey him in his 
caleche,” said Gelsomina. 

“He can only see my back, and his gaze 
cannot meet mine at the required angle,” 
replied Scazziga. “ Besides, I am not afraid.” 

“You have no religion, Scazziga, and will 
end badly,” said Palforio, the gigantic cook. 

While this discussion was in progress in the 
kitchen of the Hotel de Rome, Paul, who was 
much annoyed by Count d’Altavilla’s pres- 
ence at Miss Ward’s villa, had gone off for a 
walk to the villa Reale in a very bad humor. 
As he thought of his morning visit the frown 
came more than once into his forehead, and his 
eyes resumed their strange, fixed expression. 
Once he thought he saw Alicia going by in a 
carriage with the Commodore and the Count; 
he quickly rushed out, adjusting his eye- 
glasses to make sure he was not mistaken. It 
was not Alicia, however, but a woman who 
resembled her slightly at a distance. But the 


66 


THE EVIL EYE. 


horses, no doubt frightened by his sudden 
appearance, dashed away at a furious speed 
and were soon out of sight. 

Paul then took an ice at the European cafe, 
cn the largo of the palace; the few persons 
around him examined him attentively and 
changed their seats while, making a singular 
gesture. 

He entered the Pulcinella theatre, where an 
entertainment was in progress. The actor 
became confused in the middle of his laugh- 
able improvisation and stopped short. He 
soon recovered himself, however, but in the 
very middle of a lazzi his black cardboard 
nose fell off, and he could not succeed in 
readjusting it. To excuse himself to his audi- 
ence he made a rapid sign that explained the 
cause of his ill-luck; the glance Paul had fixed 
on him deprived him of his powers. 

Paul’s neighbors vanished one by one; M. 
d’ Aspremont arose to leave, unable to explain 
the effect he produced, and as he passed out 
he heard many Voices repeating the strange, 
unintelligible word : “A Jettatore! a Jettatore!” 


THE EVIL EYE. 


67 


CHAPTER VI. 



HE day following the odd present of the 


1 pair of horns, Count Altavilla presented 
himself at Miss Ward’s villa. The young Eng- 
lish girl was drinking a cup of tea with her un- 
cle, precisely as if she had been at Ramsgate 
in a yellow brick house, and not at Naples on a 
whitewashed terrace surrounded by fig trees, 
cactis, and aloes: for one of the characteristics 
of the Saxon race is the persistency of habits, 
however contrary to the climate. The Commo- 
dore was radiant: he had succeeded in keeping 
his butter in a solid state by means of ice man- 
ufactured with a chemical apparatus, for snow 
only is brought down from the mountains that 
arise behind Castellamare; and he was gazing 
at his sandwich in evident satisfaction. 

After the few vague words that always pro- 
ceed a conversation and which seem like the 
prelude of a pianist before playing v/hat he in- 
tends to play, Alicia abruptly turned to the 
young Neapolitan count and asked: 

“What signifies that odd present of horns 


68 


THE EVIL EYE. 


which accompanied your flowers ? The servant, 
Vice, told me it was a charm against the fascino, 
but that is all I could draw from her.*' 

“Vice is right,” replied Count Altavilla with 
a bow, 

“ But what is a fascino? '' insisted the young 
girl. I know nothing of your country’s super- 
stitions, and this is no doubt a popular belief.” 

“ The fascino is the pernicious influence exer- 
cised by the person gifted, or rather afflicted 
with the evil eyef said the Count. 

“ I am pretending to understand because I 
fear to give you an unfavorable opinion of my 
intelligence if I admit that the meaning of your 
words escape me, said Alicia. “You explain 
the unknown by the unknown: evil eye is a poor 
translation of fascino for me. As that person- 
age in the comedy said: “ I know Latin, but go 
on as if I did not.” 

“ I shall explain myself as clearly as possi- 
ble,” resumed Altavilla, “only, in your British 
disdain, do not take me for a savage and ask 
yourself if my clothes do not conceal a skin 
tatooed in red and blue. I am a civilized man; 
I was brought up in Paris, I speak English and 


THE EVIL EYE. 


69 


French; I have read Voltaire; I believe in steam 
engines, railways, and in two houses like 
Stendhal; I eat macaroni with a fork; I wear 
Swiss gloves in the morning, colored gloves in 
the afternoon and straw-colored gloves in the 
evening.” 

The Commodore, who was spreading butter 
on his second sandwich, was attracted by this 
strange prologue and stopped short, his knife 
in his hand, and his cold blue eyes, contrasting 
so oddly with his brick-red complexion, fixed 
on Altavilla. 

‘‘These are reassuring recommendations,” 
said Alicia with a smile; “and I should need to 
be very distrustful to suspect you of barbarism 
after this. But what you have to say must be 
very terrible or very absurd that you should 
require so much circumlocution to reach the 
fact.” 

“Yes, very terrible, very absurd, and even 
very ridiculous, which is worse,” continued the 
Count, “If I were in London or Paris, I would 
perhaps laugh with you, but here, at Naples — ” 

“You will be serious in that what you 
mean?” 


70 


THE EVIL EYE. 


“Precisely.” 

“But let us come to the fascino,'" said Alicia, 
impressed in spite of herself by Altavilla’s 
gravity. 

“This belief goes back to the greatest 
antiquity. Allusion is made to it in the Bible. 
Virgil speaks of it in a convinced tone; the 
bronze talismans found in Pompeii, Hercu- 
lanum and Stabies, the preservative signs drawn 
on the walls of the excavated houses, all show 
how this superstition was spread in the past 
(Altavilla emphasized the or d superstition with 
a malicious intention). The entire Orient 
believes in it to this day. Red or green hands 
are painted on Moorish dwellings to ward off 
the evil influence. There is a carved hand on 
the key-stone of the Door of Judgment at the 
Alhambra, which proves that this superstition 
is very ancient at least, if not well founded. 
When millions of men have shared an opinion 
for thousands of years, it is probable that this 
opinion so generally received is supported by 
positive facts, by a long series of observations 
justified by events. It is difficult to believe 
that so many persons, many of whom were il- 


THE EVIL EYE. 


71 


lustrous, enlightened and learned men, should 
have been deceived in a thing which I alone — 
whatever high opinion I should have of myself 
— should see clearly.” 

” Your arguments are easily refuted,” inter- 
rupted Miss Ward. “Was not polytheism the 
religion of Hesiodus, Homer, Aristotele, 
Plato, even of 3ocrates, who sacrificed a cock 
to Esculapius, and of innumerable other per- 
sonages of undeniable genius.” 

“ Undoubtedly; but no one now-a-days sacri- 
fices bullocks to Jupiter.” 

“They are now put to a much better use by 
being cut up into beafsteaks and roasts,” said 
the Commodore sententiously, the custom of 
burning victims on coals having always 
shocked him in Homer. 

“We no longer sacrifice doves to Venus, 
or peacocks to Juno, or stags to Bacchus,” 
resumed Altavilla. “ Christianity has replaced 
the white marble dreams with which Greece 
peopled its Olympus, error has vanished before 
truth, and yet an infinity of people still fear the 
effects of the fascino or the jettaturo, as it is 
usually called.” 


72 


THE EVIL EYE. 


“I can understand how ignorant persons may 
be troubled by such influences,” replied Alicia, 
“but I am astonished that a man of your birth 
and education should share the belief.” 

k 

It is no more astonishing than to see a strong- 
minded person hang a horn beneath his window, 
nail a horse shoe above his door, and never vent- 
ure out unless covered with talismans,” re- 
joined the Count. “I am frank, and admit 
without a blush that when I meet a Jettatore I 
cross the street, and if I cannot avoid his 
gaze, I exorcise it as best I can with the con- 
secrated gesture. I make no more ado about 
it than would a lazzarone and I find it an ex- 
cellent plan. I nnumerable mishaps have taught 
me not to scorn these precautions.” 

Miss Ward possessed a philosophical mind 
which had never known restraint. She admitted 
nothing until after thorough examination, and 
her reason rejected all that could not be ex- 
plained mathematically. The Count’s words as- 
tonished her; at first she believed that he must be 
jesting, but the calm, convinced tone in which 
he spoke caused her to change her opinion, 
though it failed to persuade her, 


THE EVIL EYE. 


73 


“I admit,” she said, “that this prejudice ex- 
ists, that it is wide-spread, that you are sincere 
in your fear of the evil-eye, and that you are 
not trying to take advantage of the simplicity 
of a stranger; but give me some physical reason 
for this superstitious idea; for I am very 
incredulous; the fantastic, the mysterious, the 
occult, the inexplicable, have but little influ- 
ence upon me.” 

“You will not deny the power of the human 
eye. Miss Alicia,” rejoined the Count, “in it the 
light of heaven is combined with the reflection 
of the soul. The pupil is a lens that concen- 
trates the rays of life, and the intellectual elec- 
tricity gushes out through this narrow opening. 
Does not the glance of a woman penetrate the 
hardest heart? Does not the glance of a hero 
reanimate a whole army? Does not the glance 
of the physician subdue the madman? Does 
not the glance of a mother make the lion shrink 
back?” 

“You plead your cause with eloquence,” said 
Alicia shaking her pretty head; “forgive me if 
1 still have doubts.” 

“Does not a bird obey a foreboding, when 


74 


THE EVIL EYE. 


palpitating with terror and uttering pitiful 
shrieks, it comes down from the branch, from 
which it might have easily flown, to throw itself 
into the jaws of the serpent that fascinates it? 
Has it heard its mates babbling jettatura stories 
in the nest? Have not many effects been pro- 
duced by causes inappreciable to our organs? 
Is the miasma of the fever pest, or cholera 
visible? No eye detects the electric fluid on 
the point of the lightning rod, and yet the 
lightning is attracted! What is there absurd 
in the supposition that a propitious or fatal 
ray may be emitted from this black, blue, or 
gray disk? Why should not this effluvium be 
lucky or unlucky according to the way of 
emission or the angle under which the object 
received it?” 

‘It seems to me,” said the Commodore, 
“that there is some truth in the Count’s theory; 
I have never been able to look into the golden 
eyes of a toad without feeling an intolerable 
warmth in my stomach, as if I had taken an 
emetic; and yet the poor reptile has more 
reason to fear than I, who could crush him 
with my foot.” 


THE EVIL EYE. 


75 


“Ah! uncle!” cried Alacia, “if you side with 
M. d’Altavilla, I shall be beaten. I am not 
strong enough to struggle. Although I may 
find many objections against this ocular elec- 
tricity which no physician mentions I am 
willing to admit its existence for an instant, 
but what efficacy can those immense horns 
you presented me have in preserving us from 
their unhappy effects?” 

“As the lightning rod attracts the lightning 
with its points,” replied Altavilla, “so the 
sharp points of these horns attract the eye of 
the jettatore, turn aside the malignant fluid, 
and destroy its dangerous electricity. The 
same may be accomplished by extending the 
fingers forward and wearing coral talismans.” 

“All you have just said is very foolish, 
Monsieur Le Comte,” said Alicia, “and this is 
what I understand from your words. Accord- 
ing to you I am under the influence of the 
fascino from a very dangerous jettatore and 
you have sent me those horns as a means of 
defense?” 

“I fear so, Miss Alicia,” replied the Count 
in a tone of profound conviction. 


76 


THE EVIL EYE. 


“Indeed!” cried the Commodore, “I should 
like to see one of those squinty-eyed rascals 
trying to fascinate my niece! Although I am 
past sixty, I have not yet forgotten my boxing 
lessons.” 

And he closed his fist, pressing his thumb 
against his bent fingers. 

“Two fingers suffice,” said Altavilla, taking 
the Commodore’s hand and placing his fingers 
in the required position. “Usually, the jetta- 
tura is involuntary; it is exercised without the 
knowledge of those who posses this fatal gift, 
and when the jettatore do become conscious of 
their evil power, they often deplore the effects 
even more than anybody else. We must there- 
fore avoid them and not ill-treat them. Besides, 
with the horns, the extended fingers, and the 
double branch of coral, we can neutralize, or 
at least -attenuate their influence.” 

“Indeed, it is very strange,” said the Com- 
modore, impressed in spite of himself by the 
Count’s words. 

“I was not aware that I was under the influ- 
ence of a jettatore,” said the young girl, whose 
curiosity was awakened, although she was still 


THE EVIL EYE. 


77 


incredulous; “I never leave this terrace except 
to take a drive to the villa Reale in the evening 
with my uncle, and I have never remarked any 
that could give rise to your supposition. On 
whom does your suspicion rest?” 

“It is not suspicion, Miss Ward; it is certain- 
ty,” replied the young Neapolitan count. 

“In mercy, then, reveal the name of this 
fatal being!” exclaimed Miss Ward, with a 
slight shade of mockery. 

Altavilla remained silent. 

“It is always good to know of whom you 
should beware,” added the Commodore. 

The young man seemed buried in thought 
for a few moments, then he arose suddenly, 
walked up to Miss Ward’s uncle, and, bowing 
respectfully, said: 

“My lord Ward, I beg you to honor me with 
your niece’s hand.” 

At this unexpected speech Alicia blushed, 
and the Commodore turned from red to 
scarlet. 

Count Altavilla was certainly in a position 
to asoire to Miss Ward’s hand; he belonged to 
one of the oldest and most noble families of 


78 


THE EVIL EYE. 


Naples. He was young, handsome, rich, stood 
well in royal circles, and was of irreproachable 
elegance. His proposal, therefore, had nothing 
shocking in itself, but it came in such a strange 
and sudden manner, and seemed to have so 
little to do with the previous conversation, 
that the stupefaction and amazement of the 
Commodore and his niece were only natural. 
Altavilla, however, was neither surprised nor 
alarmed, and awaited his answer with perfect 
composure. 

“My dear Count,” said the Commodore at 
last when he had recovered his self-possession, 
“your proposal astonishes me as much as it 
honors me. The truth is, I know not what 
to say; I have not consulted my niece. We 
were speaking of fascino, jettatura, horns, talis- 
mans, open or closed hands — in fact, of all 
sorts of things that have nothing to do with 
marriage — and you suddenly ask me for Alicia’s 
hand! It is really astonishing, and I hope you 
will not be angry with me if my ideas are not 
quite clear on the subject. This union would 
certainly be very suitable, but I believed my 
niece had other intentions, It is true that an. 


THE EVIL EYE. 79 

old sea-dog like myself cannot always read the 
heart of a young girl.” 

Seeing that her uncle was becoming con- 
fused, Alicia took advantage of this pause to 
cut short a scene that was becoming embarrass- 
ing, and said: 

“ Count, when a gentleman asks loyally for 
the hand of a young girl, she can find no cause 
to be offended, but she has the right to be 
astonished at the odd form of his proposal. I 
was urging you to tell me the name of the pre- 
tended jettatore, whose influence, according to 
you, may injure me, and you suddenly turn to 
my uncle and make a proposition, the motive 
of which I can not understand or elucidate..” 

“ It is because a gentleman cannot willingly 
become a denunciator,” replied Altavilla, “ and 
a husband alone can defend his wife. But take 
a few days for reflection. Until then, the horns 
exposed in a very visible way, will, I hope, 
suffice 'to protect you from any unhappy 
event.” 

As he said these last words the count arose 
and, bowing profoundly, walked away. 

Vice, the dark servant with crimpy hair, was 


8o 


THE EVIL EYE. 


slowly ascending the steps that led to the ter- 
race, carrying the afternoon tea, and heard the 
last words of the conversation. She nourished 
against Paul d’Aspremont all the aversion that 
a peasant of Abruzzo, scarcely tamed by two 
or three years of servile work, can conceive 
against a forestiere suspected of jettatura; be- 
sides, she found the Count elegant and hand- 
some, and could not understand how Miss Ward 
conld prefer a pale delicate young man, whom 
she. Vice, would not accept even if he were 
not a jettatura. Moreover, she did not appre- 
ciate the delicacy of the Count’s proceedings, 
and was anxious to save her beloved mistress 
from a pernicious influence; so bending until 
she could reach Alicia’s ear she whispered: 

“ I know the name Count Altavilla refuses to 
reveal.” 

“ I forbid you to utter it. Vice,” cried Alicia. 
“ Indeed all these superstitions are shameful, 
and I will brave them like a Christian who fears 
God only.” 


THE EVIL EYE. 


8l 


CHAPTER VII. 


ii ETTATORE! Jettatore! Those words 



^ were really addressed to me,” said Paul 
d’Aspremont to himself as he thoughtfully 
walked back to the hotel. “ I do not know 
their meaning, but they most assuredly signify 
something injurious or malicious. What is 
there singular, remarkable, or ridiculous in my 
person that I should this attract unfavorable 
attention ? Although one is never a good judge 
of himself, it seems to me that I am neither 
handsome nor plain, tall nor short, fat nor thin, 
and I might pass unnoticed in a crowd. My 
clothes are not eccentric; I do not wear a 
turban illuminated with tapers like M.Jourdain 
in the Comedy of the Bourgeois Gentilhomme ; 
neither do I wear a vest with a golden sun 
embroidered in the back. I am not preceded 
by a negro playing on timbals; my individuality, 
which is perfectly unknown in Naples, is con- 
cealed under the usual clothing, the domino 
of modern civilization, and I am in all like the 
rest of the elegant young men who walk on 


82 


THE EVIL EYE. 


the Rue de Tolede or the Largo of the Palace, 
excepting a little less cravat, a little less scarf 
pin, a little less embroidered shirt, a little less 
coat, a little less gold chain, and a great deal 
less frizzes.” 

“ Perhaps this is it, I am not curled enough. 
To morrow I shall put myself in the hands of 
the hotel hair-dresser. Yet, the people here 
are accustomed to strangers, and a little differ- 
ence in dress is not sufficient to justify the 
mysterious word and strange gesture that my 
presence incites. Besides, I have remarked an 
expression of mixed antipathy and horror in 
the eyes of the people who avoid me. What 
can I have done to these persons whom I meet 
for the first time? A traveler, a shadow that 
passes on never to return, excites indifference 
only, unless he comes from some remote region 
and is a specimen of any unknown race, but 
the steamers bring, every week thousands of 
tourists from whom I differ in nothing. No one 
cares, except the facchini, the hotel-keepers, 
and the porters! I have not killed my brother 
since I had none, and I cannot bear the mark 
of Cain; and yet everybody becomes troubled 


THE EVIL EYE. 


83 


and walks away at my approach. I never 
produced that effect in Paris, London, Vienna, 
or any of the other cities I visited, I was 
for some time considered proud and haughty, 
and was told that I affected the English accent, 
but I received the attentions due a gentleman 
every where, and my advances, although rare, 
were none the less appreciated. A sea voyage 
of three days from Marseilles to Naples cannot 
have changed me to the point of being odious 
or grotesque. I, who more than one woman 
has honored by her friendship and who has 
won the heart of Miss Alica Ward, a delicious 
young girl, a heavenly creature, an angel of 
Thomas Moore’s!” 

These sensible reflections calmed Paul d’ 
Aspremont’s agitated mind and he persuaded 
himself that he had attached too much 
importance to the exaggerated notions of the 
Neapolitans, who are the greatest gesticu- 
lators in the world, and had given them a mean- 
ing which did not exist. 

It was late. All travelers with the exception 
of Paul had retired to their respective cham- 
bers. Gelsomina, the pretty servant whose 
6 


84 


THE EVIL EYE. 


features we have sketched during the council 
held in the kitchen, under the presidency of 
Virgilio Falsacappa, was awaiting Paul’s arrival 
to bolt the door. It was Nanella’s turn to 
watch the door but she had begged her com- 
panion, who was more brave, to replace her, as 
she was afraid to meet this forestiere suspected 
of jettatura. 

Gelsomina was literally covered with 
charms. An enormous bunch bristled on her 
breast, and five small coral horns replaced the 
bangles that usually hung from the pearls in her 
ear-rings. Her thumbs and fingers were bent 
with the exception of the index and little 
fingers, which were extended with a precision 
that would have been most assuredly approved 
by the Reverend Andrea de Jorio, author of 
the Mimica degli antichi investigata net gestire 
napolitajio. 

Concealing her hand in the folds of her 
skirt, the brave Gelsomina handed a candle to 
M. Paul d’Aspremont, at the same time fix- 
ing a sharp, persistent, almost challenging 
glance on him. The expression of that glance 
was so singular that the young man lowered 


THE EVIL EYE. 85 

his eyes, and this action on his part seemed to 
please the pretty girl very much. 

Straight and motionless, her arm extended 
like a statue offering the taper, her profile 
clearly defined by a luminous line, her eyes 
fixed and blazing, she seemed like a Nemesis 
tryingto confound the guilty. 

When the traveler had ascended the stairs 
and the sound of his footsteps had died out in 
the silent hall, Gelsomina raised her head with 
an air of triumph and muttered: 

“ Ah! the wretch! May Saint Janvier con- 
found him! I made his glance shrink back 
properly into his pupils; I am sure nothing 
unfortunate will befall me.” 

Paul d’Aspremont passed a restless night 
and slept badly. He was tormented by all 
sorts of strange dreams evoked by the thoughts 
that had preoccupied him during the day. He 
saw himself surrounded by hideous and gri- 
macing figures, expressing hatred, anger 
and fear. Then these figures vanished, and 
long, thin, bony fingers, with knotty joints, 
emerged from the darkness, enveloped in a 
reddish, infernal light, and menaced him by 


86 


THE EVIL EYE. 


making cabalistic signs. The nails of these 
fingers, curved like tigers’ claws and vultures 
talons, approached nearer and nearer to his 
face and seemed as if trying to dig out 
his eyes. By a supreme effort he suc- 
ceeded in driving back these hands that 
flew on the wings of bats; but these crooked 
hands were succeeded by furious bulls, buf- 
faloes, and stags with whitened skulls, who 
attacked him with their horns anc antlers, 
forcing him into the sea, where he tore his 
body on a forest of pointed or bifurcated coral 
branches. A wave dashed him back on shore, 
bruised, crushed, half dead; and, like Lord 
Byron’s “ Don Juan,” in his swoon he caught a 
glimpse of a charming head bending over him. 
It was not Haidee, but Alicia, even more 
beautiful than the imaginary being created by 
the poet. The young girl was making vain 
efforts to draw back on the sands the body 
that the sea strove to tear from her grasp 
and begged Vice, the dark servant, to come 
to her assistance; but she refused with a cruel 
ferocious laugh. Alicia’s arms at last be- 


THE EVIL EYE. 8/ 

came weary and Paul fell back into the 
abyss. 

These confusedly frightful, vaguely horrible 
phantasmagorias and others still more confus- 
ing, recalling the shapeless specters evoked 
from the opaque shadows of the aquarium of 
Goya, tortured the sleeper until the first 
streaks of dawn. His soul, emancipated by 
the unconsciousness of his body, seemed to 
guess what his awakened thought could not 
understand, and to strive to interpret his 
presentiments by images in the dark chamber 
of dreams. 

Paul arose unrefreshed, uneasy, as if put on 
the trace of a secret misfortune by these night- 
mares, of which he feared to probe the mys- 
tery. Never had he felt, sp sad; he even 
doubted Alicia. The conceited, happy expres- 
sion of the young Neapolitan Count, the com- 
placency with which the young girl listened to 
him, the approving look of the Commodore, 
all these returned to his memory, embellished 
by a thousand cruel details, drowning his heart 
in bitterness and adding still to his melan- 
choly. 


88 


THE EVIL EYE. 


Daylight has the happy privilege of dissi- 
pating the uneasiness caused by nocturnal vis- 
ions. Smarra flies away in anger, agitating his 
membranous wings, when daylight shoots its 
golden arrows into the room through the inter- 
stices of the curtains. 

The sun shone with joyous brightness, the 
sky was pure, and the blue sea sparkled with 
myriads of spangles in the sunlight. Little by 
little Paul grew more calm and reassured. He 
forgot his painful dreams and the strange 
impressions of the previous day; or, if he 
thought of them at all, it was only to accuse 
himself of foolishness. 

He went to Chiaja to amuse himself by hear- 
ing the saucy Neopolitan. The merchants 
stood on queer looking benches crying out and 
advertising their wares in the popular dialect — 
unintelligible to Paul, who understood Italian 
only — with wild gestures and a violence of 
action unknown in the North. But whenever 
he stopped near a shop the merchant looked 
alarmed, muttered some unintelligible impre- 
cation, and extended his fingers as if to stab 
him with the index and little finger; and the 


THE EVIL EYE. 89 

women, more bold, overwhelmed him with 
reproaches and shook their fists at him. 



e 


90 


THE EVIL EYE. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


N hearing these abuses from the mob of 



Chiaja, M. Paul d’ Aspremont at first 
believed himself to be the object of those 
vulgar and ridiculous litanies with which fish- 
mongers entertain well-dressed people who go 
through the market place. But the look of 
repulsion and fear in their eyes was so deep 
and real that he perforce renounced this inter- 
pretation. Again the word '' Jettatore'' which 
had struck his ear at the theater San Carlino, 
was hurled at him, and this time it was uttered 
in a menacing tone and with violent expres- 
sion. He walked away slowly with downcast 
eyes, no longer daring to fix his gaze — the 
cause of so much trouble — on any object. 

As he walked along close to the walls, 
endeavoring to escape public notice, his atten- 
tion was attracted by a display of old books 
at a second hand shop. He stopped and 
opened a few books to give himself time to 
recover his composure. With his back half 
turned and his face nearly concealed in the 


THE EVIL EYE. 


91 


pages, he thus avoided all chance of insult. 
For an instant he had thought of charging the 
mob with his cane; but the vague superstitious 
terror that was beginning to invade him held 
him back. He remembered having once struck 
an insolent coachman with a light walking 
stick, and the blow had fallen on his temple, 
killing him on the spot. It was an involuntary 
murder, but he had never ceased to grieve over 
it. He had taken up several volumes at 
hazard and replaced them in their case, when 
he picked up a treatise on the “ Jettatura^' by 
Signor Niccolo Valetta. The title burned 
before his eyes like characters of fire; and to 
his excited mind the book seemed placed there 
by the hand of fatality. He threw the price 
of the volume, six or eight carlins, to the old 
book-worm, who stood gazing at him with a 
cunning look, as he toyed with two or three 
black horns attached to his chain, and hurried 
back to the hotel. Once there, he carefully 
locked himself in his room and hastened to 
open the book, which was to enlighten him and 
settle the doubts that had invaded his mind 
since his arrival at Naples. 


92 


THE EVIL EYE. 


Signor Valetta’s book is as well known and 
wide spread in Naples as the Secrets of the 
Great Albert I' Etteila or the Key to dreams in 
Paris. Valetta defines the Jettatura, teaches 
by what signs, it may be known, and by what 
means we may be preserved from it. He 
divides the Jettatore into many classes, accord- 
ing to the degree of evil of which they are 
capable, and touches on all questions that re- 
late to this grave matter. 

Had Paul d’Aspremont found this book in 
Paris, he would merely have turned its pages 
and carelessly glanced at them as he would an 
old almanac filled with ridiculous stories, and 
would have been amused at the seriousness 
with which the author treated this nonsense. 
But in his present disposition of mind, far 
from his ordinary surroundings, prepared to 
credulity by an infinity of small incidents, he 
read its pages with a secret horror, like an 
uninitiated being, spelling out spirit evocations 
and cabalistic formula. Although he did not 
try to penetrate them, the secrets of hell re- 
vealed themselves to him. Struggle as he 
would, he could no longer drive away the truth 


THE EVIL EYE. 


93 


from him. He was now conscious of his fatal 
power, he was a Jettatore! He was forced to 
admit it to himself; he possessed all the dis- 
tinctive signs described by Valetta. 

It sometimes happens that a man, who until 
that moment has believed himself endowed with 
perfect health, opens a medical work either 
by hazard or for distraction, and, as he reads 
the pathological description of a disease, the 
knowledge comes to him that he is its victim. 
Enlightened by a fatal light, as each symptom 
is described, he feels some obscure organ throb- 
bing painfully; some hidden fiber, the existence 
of which he had not even suspected until then, 
quivers in response; and his cheeks pale as he 
realizes that death, which he had thought so 
far away, is fast approaching. Paul experi- 
enced an analogous effect. 

He placed himself before the glass and 
scrutinized his face with frightful intensity. 
That incongruous beauty, composed of per- 
fections not usually found together, made him 
resemble more than ever, the fallen Archangel, 
and reflected sinisterly from the depth of the 
mirror. The fibrils in the pupils writhed like 


94 


THE EVIL EYE. 


convulsive vipers; his eye brows quivered like 
the bow from which the fatal arrow has just 
escaped; the white furrow in his brow re- 
sembled the cicatrice of a thunderbolt; and 
his glossy hair seemed to burn with infernal 
flame. And the marble paleness of the skin 
gave still more relief to each feature of this 
truly terrible physiognomy. 

Paul began to fear himself. It seemed to him 
that the appearance of his eyes reflected by the 
mirror, rebounded on him like poisoned stings. 
Imagine Medusa examining her horrible and 
charming head in the yellow reflections of a 
brass shield. 

Our readers may say that it is difficult to be- 
lieve that a young man of the world, imbued 
with modern science, who had lived in the midst 
of the scepticism of civilization, could take a 
popular prejudice into serious consideration 
and imagine himself fatally gifted with a mys- 
terious evil power. But to this we will answer 
that there exists an irresistible magnetism in a 
thought that is general, which penetrates you 
in spite of yourself, and against which the will 
cannot always struggle successfully. Many on 


THE EVIL EYE. 


95 


their arrival in Naples scorn and ridicule the 
jettatura, but end by covering themselves with 
horny preservatives and flying in terror from 
any individual with a suspicious-looking eye. 

Paul d’Aspremont found himself in a still 
more grave position; he was himself a jettatore 
— and everybody avoided him, or made the pre- 
servative signs recommended by Signor Valetta 
in his presence. Although his reason rebelled 
against the thought, he could not help recog- 
nizing the fact that he possessed all the indica- 
tions that betray the fascino. 

The human mind — even the most enlightened 
— always retains a dark corner, wherein the hid- 
eous chimeras of credulity crouch, or the vam- 
pires of superstition hover. Ordinary life itself 
is so full of insoluble problems, that the impos- 
sible becomes probable. We may believe or 
deny all; from a certain point of view, the dream 
exists as much as the reality. 

Paul felt himself invaded by a deep sadness. 
He was a monster ! Although endowed with 
the most affectionate instincts, and the most 
generous nature and kind-heartedness, he car- 
ried misfortune with him. His glance, invol- 


96 


THE EVIL EYE. 


untarily charged with venom, injured those on 
whom it rested, although his intentions were of 
the best. He possessed the terrible privilege 
of uniting, concentrating, and distilling morbid 
miasmas, dangerous electricities, and all the 
fatal influences of the atmosphere to scatter 
them around his path. 

Many circumstances in his life which until 
then had seemed obscure, and for which he 
had vaguely accused hazard, were now made 
clear by a livid light. He recalled all sorts of 
enigmatical mishaps, unexplained misfortunes, 
catastrophes without motives, of which he 
now held the key. Many odd coincidences 
now established themselves in his mind, con- 
firming the sad opinion he had reached con- 
cerning himself. 

He recalled his life year by year. He re- 
membered that his mother had died in giving 
him birth, the sad end of his little school 
friends, the most beloved of whom had been 
killed in falling from a tree as Paul stood 
watching him climbing up the branches; that 
boating excursion, so joyously commenced 
with two companions, and from which he had 


THE EVIL EYE. 


97 


returned alone, after vain efforts to tear from 
the weeds the bodies of the poor children 
drowned by the capsizing of the boat ; the 
pass-at-arms in which his foil, broken near 
the button, and thus transformed into a sword, 
had dangerously wounded his adversary — a 
young man whom he loved very much. All 
this could certainly be explained rationally, 
and Paul had done so until a few hours pre- 
vious; but all that was accidental or fortuitous 
in these events appeared to depend on another 
cause since his perusal of Signor Valetta’s 
work. The fatal influence, the fascino, the 
jettatura must have had its part in these catas- 
trophies. Such a continuity of misfortunes 
around the same personage was not natural. 

Another more recent circumstance returned 
to his mind with all its horrible details, and 
contributed not a little to confirm him in his 
sad belief. 

He often visited the Queen’s Theatre, in 
London, where he had been particularly struck 
with the gracefulness of a young English danc- 
ing girl. He admired her as he would a pretty 
figure in a painting or engraving, and his eyes 


98 


THE EVIL EYE. 


always followed her in the midst of her ballet 
companions, through the whirlwind of rapid 
manoeuvres. He loved to see that sweet, 
melancholy face, that delicate paleness which 
the animation of the dance never flushed ; the 
beautiful silky, blonde hair, crowned with stars 
of flowers; that deep gaze lost into space; those 
shoulders of virginal chastity, shuddering under 
the opera glass; those limbs that regretfully 
raised their cloud of gauze, and glistened under 
their silky coveringlike the marble of a statue. 
Whenever she came near the foot-lights he 
bowed, made some little sign of furtive ad- 
miration, or raised his opera glass to obtain a 
better view of her. 

One night the' dancer, carried away by the 
rapid movement of the music, came near that 
dazzling line of fire that separates the real from 
the ideal world in the theatre, her light fairy- 
like draperies fluttering like the wings of a 
dove ready to take flight, a gas jet draws its 
blue and white tongue and lapped the airy stuff. 
In an instant the young girl was enveloped in 
flames; for a few seconds she danced like a 
will-o’the-wisp surrounded by a red light, and 


THE EVIL EYE. 


99 


then rushed out frantic with terror, devoured 
by the flames of her garments. 

Paul had been deeply grieved by this tragedy, 
of which the journals of the day spoke at 
length, and where the name of the victim and 
details may be found by those who are curious 
to read them. But his grief was not mingled 
with remorse; he attributed himself no share in 
the accident which he deplored more than any 
one else. 

He was now persuaded that his obstinacy in 
following her with his glance had brought death 
to this charming girl. He considered himself 
as her assassin. He felt a horror of himself 
and wished that he had never been born. 

To this prostration, however, succeeded a 
violent reaction. He began to laugh nervously 
and dashed down Valetta’s book, exclaiming 
impatiently: 

“Really, I am becoming imbecile or mad! 
The sun of Naples must have effected my head. 
What would my club companions say, if they 
knew that I had seriously troubled my con- 
science with this fine question — whether or no 
I am a Jettatore!” 

7 


100 


THE EVIL EYE. 


Paddy knocked discreetly on the door — Paul 
opened it, and the groom presented him a let- 
ter from Alicia on the glazed leather of his cap, 
excusing himself for not having a silver tray. 

Paul d’Aspremont broke the seal and read 
the following: 

“Are you angry with me, Paul? — You did not 
come last night, and your lemon sherbet melted 
dismally away on the table. I strained my 
ears in vain until nine o’clock, trying to dis- 
tinguish the rumbling of your carriage through 
the obstinate song of the cricket and the roar- 
ing of the tabret. Then I perforce lost all hope 
and quarreled with the Commodore — admire 
the justice of woman! — Don Limon, donna 
Pangrazia, and Pulcinella with her black nose, 
must possess a great charm for you? For I 
learned through my police that you spent your 
evening at San Carlino. You did not write a 
single one of those pretended important letters. 
Why not admit simply and stupidly that you 
are jealous of Count Altavilla? I believed you 
possessed more vanity, and this modesty on 
your part touches me. Have no fear, M. 
d’Altavilla is too handsome, and I do not fancy 


THE EVIL EYE. 


lOI 


Apollos. I would effect a superb indifference 
in regard to you and say that I did not 
notice your absence, but the truth is that I 
found the time very long; that I was in very 
bad humor, very nervous, and that I nearly 
boxed Vice’s ears because she was laughing 
like an imbecile — I cannot imagine why. 

“A. W.” 

This cheerful and bantering letter brought 
Paul’s mind back to a sense of real life. He 
dressed, ordered the carriage, and a few min- 
utes later the Voltairian, Scazziga, was flourish- 
ing his whip around the ears of his animals 
who rushed galloping on the lava pavement, 
through the ever compact crowd on the quay 
of Santa Lucia. 

“Scazziga! what spirit spurs you on? You 
will cause some accident!” cried M. d’Aspre- 
mont in alarm. 

The driver turned quickly to reply, and he 
met Paul’s irritated glance. A stone he had 
failed to see raised one of the front wheels, and 
the shock threw him from his seat, without, 
however, releasing the reins. With the agility 
of a monkey, he jumped back to his place, but 


102 


THE EVIL EYE. 


a lump the size of an egg stood out on his fore- 
head. 

“ May the devil take me if I . turn again when 
you talk to me! ” he growled between his teeth. 
“ Timberio, Falsacappa and Gelsomina were 
right; he is a Jettatore! To-morrow I shall 
buy a pair of horns. If they do no good, they 
can do no harm.” 

This little incident produced a disagreeable 
impression on Paul. It brought him back into 
the magical circle from which he was trying to 
escape. A stone is every day found under the 
wheels of a carriage, and an awkward coach- 
man is in consequence thrown from his seat. 
Nothing is more simple or commonplace. The 
effect^ however, had followed the came so 
closely, Scazziga’s fall coincided so precisely 
with his irritated glance, that Paul’s apprehen- 
sions returned. 

“ I am half inclined to leave this supersti- 
tious country this very day,” he said to himself. 
” I feel my brain tossing in my skull, like a dry 
hazel-nut in its shell. But if I confided my 
fears to Miss Ward, she would only laugh, and 
beside, the climate of Naples is favorable to 


THE EVIL EYE. IO3 

her health — her health — but she was well before 
meeting me! Never had that swan’s nest 
rocked on the waters, and which we call Eng- 
land, produced a child more rosy and fair! 
Life shone in her bright sparkling eyes and 
bloomed on her fresh satiny cheeks. A rich 
and pure blood coursed through the blue veins 
under the transparent skin; and one felt a 
graceful strength in her dazzling beauty! How 
pale and thin she became under my gaze; how 
emaciated were her delicate hands. Dark shad- 
ows encircled her bright eyes, as if consump- 
tion had placed his bony fingers on her bright 
colors; her breath comes freely from those 
lungs which the physician sounded in alarm. 
Delivered from my woeful influence, she would 
enjoy long years of life. Is it not I who am 
killing her? The other evening when I was 
there, did she not experinece a pain so sharp 
that her cheeks became as livid as if fanned by 
the cold breath of death? Do I not effect her 
with the Jettatura against my will? — But after 
all there may be nothing unnatural in it at all. 
Many young English girls are predisposed to 
lung troubles.” 


104 


THE EVIL EYE. 


These thoughts occupied Paul’s mind until 
he reached the villa. When he presented him- 
self on the terrace, where Miss Ward and the 
Commodore were usually to be found, the first 
thing that met his eyes was Count Altavilla’s 
gift, the enormous Sicilian horns with their 
marbled crescent curving in the most conspic- 
uous place. 

Seeing that Paul remarked them, the Com- 
modore turned purple — this being his way of 
blushing — for, less delicate than his niece, he 
had received Vice’s confidences. 

Alicia, with a gesture of perfect disdain, mo- 
tioned the servant to carry them away, and 
fixed her beautiful eyes on Paul with an ex- 
pression full of love, courage and faith. 

“Don’t take them away,” said Paul to Vice, 
“they are very beautiful.” 


THE EVIL EYE. 


105 


CHAPTER IX. 

AUL’S observation on Count Altavilla’s 



t gift seemed to please the commodore; 
Vice smiled, showing two rows of sharp-pointed 
teeth that shone with a ferocious whiteness; 
and Alicia, in a rapid glance, seemed to ask 
her friend a question which remained without 
answer. 

An embarrassing silence fell on the group. 

The first few minutes of a visit, even though 
cordial, familiar, expected, and renewed every 
day, are usually embarrassing. During the ab- 
sence, even when it has lasted but a few hours, 
there has arisen an invisible atmosphere which 
chills all effusion. It is like a perfectly trans- 
parent glass through which we see the land- 
scape, but which even the fly cannot penetrate. 
There is nothing apparent to the eye, and yet 
we feel the obstacle. 

A hidden thought, dissimulated under a 
polite reserve, preoccupied at the same time 
the three personages of this ordinarily friendly 
9,nd cheerful group. The Commodore twisted 


7 


io6 


THE EVIL EYE. 


his thumbs mechanically; Paul d’Aspremont 
kept his eyes obstinately fixed on the black 
polished points of the horns he had forbidden 
Vice to carry away, as if he were a naturalist 
trying to classify an unknown species by exam- 
ining a specimen; and Alicia toyed with the 
rosette of the ribbon that encircled her waist, 
making a pretense of tightening the knot. 

Miss Ward was the first to break the ice, with 
that playful freedom that belongs to the young 
English girl, who is nevertheless always so re- 
served and modest after marriage. 

“Really Paul,” she said, “you are not very 
amiable this evening. Is your gallantry a cold 
atmosphere plant 'which can only expand in 
England, and whose development is restrained 
by the hot temperature of this climate? How 
attentive, zealous and devoted you were in our 
Lincolnshire cottage! You always approached 
me with your heart on your lips, your hand on 
your breast, irreproachably curled, ready to 
bend the knee before the idol of your soul; 
such, in fact, as lovers are pictured in novels.” 

“ I love you still, Alicia,” said Paul tenderly, 
without moving his eyes from the horns sus- 


THE EVIL EYE. 


107 


pended to one of the antique columns that 
supported the vine ceiling. 

“You say it in so lugubrious a tone that 1 
should have to be a great coquette to believe 
you,” retorted iVlicia. “I suppose that what 
pleased you in me was my pale complexion, 
my diaphaneity, my vaporous and shadowy 
grace; in a word my position as an invalid gave 
me a certain romantic charm which I have lost.” 

“Alicia! you were never more beautiful!” 
cried Paul. 

“Words, words, words, as Shakespeare says, I 
am so beautiful that you will not condescend to 
look at me.” 

In fact, Paul d’ Aspremout had not once 
turned his eyes toward the young girl. 

“Come,” she continued with a sigh comically 
exaggerated. “I see that I must have become 
a strong and stout peasant girl, very fresh, 
highly colored, without the least distinction, 
incapable of figuring at the Almacks ball, or 
in a book of beauties, separated from a sonnet 
of admiration by a sheet of tissue paper.” 

“Miss Ward, you take pleasure in calumniat- 
ing yourself,” said Paul with lowered eyelids, 


io8 


THE EVIL EYE. 


“You might as well admit frankly that I am 
frightful — Commodore, it is all your fault; 
with your chicken wings, your cutlets and 
tenderloins, your small glasses of Canary wine, 
your horse-back rides, your sea baths and your 
gymnastic exercises; you have built up that 
fatal commonplace health which dissipates M. 
d’Aspremont’s poetic illusions.” 

“You are teasing M. d’Aspremont and laugh- 
ing at me,” said the amazed Commodore; “but 
tenderloin is certainly substantial and Canary 
wine has never been known to injure anyone.” 

“What disappointment my poor Paul! to 
leave an elf, a sprite, a hobgobblin, and find 
what parents and physicians call a well con- 
stituted young person! But listen — since you 
have not the courage to look me in the face — 
and shudder with horror — I weigh seven 
ounces more than on my departure from Eng- 
land!” 

“ Eight ounces!” proudly interrupted the 
Commodore, who nursed Alicia as tenderly as 
a mother. 

“ Is it precisely eight ounces? Oh! you ter- 
rible uncle, you will disenchant M. d’Aspre- 


THE EVIL EYE. lOQ 

* 

mont entirely!” cried Alicia affecting profound 
discouragement. 

While the young girl challenged him by co- 
quetries she would not have resorted to, even 
with her fiance, without grave motives, Paul 
d’Aspremont, a prey to a fixed idea and unwill- 
ing to injure Alicia by his fatal gaze, kept his 
eyes fixed to the magical horns, or allowed 
them to wonder vaguely over the immense blue 
expanse of water visible from the terrace. 

He was asking himself if it was not his duty 
to fly from Alicia, even though he passed 
for a man without faith and without honor, 
and end his days in some desert island, where 
his jettatura would perforce die out for want 
of a human glance to absorbe it. 

“ I know what makes you so serious and 
gloomy,” continued Alicia jestingly; “ the date 
of our marriage is fixed for one month from 
now; and you shrink from the idea of becom- 
ing the husband of a poor country girl with- 
out the least elegance. I release you; you may 
marry my friend. Miss Sarah Templeton, who 
^ats pickles and drinks vinegar to become thin.” 

She laughed, that clear, silvery laugh of 


no 


THE EVIL EYE. 


youth, and the Commodore and Paul joined in 
her merriment. 

When the last peal of her nervous gaiety 
had died out, she came to Paul, took his hand, 
and drew him toward the piano placed at the 
angle of the terrace. 

“ My friend,” she said, as she opened a music 
book and placed it on the stand, “ you are not 
in a conversational mood to-da^ and what is not 
worth saying may be sung, you will therefore do 
your best in this duettmo. The accompaniment is 
not difficult, they are nearly all common chords.” 

Paul seated himself at the piano, Alicia 
standing by his side that she might follow the 
score. The Commodore threw his head back, 
stretched his limbs, and took a pose of 
anticipating beatitude, for he had great pre- 
tentions to dilettantisme and vowed he adored 
music! But before the sixth measure was 
reached he invariably slept the sleep of the 
just. He obstinately maintained, however, 
notwithstanding his niece’s raillery, that it was 
merely a state of ecstacy, although he some- 
times snored — a symptom not alltogether ec- 
static. 


THE EVIL EYE. 


Ill 


The duettino was a light and lively melody, 
of the Cimarosa kind with words by Metastase 
and we could not better describe it than by 
comparing it to a butterfly dancing through a 
sunbeam. 

Music has the powder of driving away evil 
spirits. In a few moments Paul forgot exercis- 
ing fingers, magic horns, and coral charms. 
He had forgotten Signor Valletta’s book and 
all the reverses of jettatura. His soul ascended 
gaily with Alicia’s voice, into a pure and bright 
atmosphere. 

The grass-hoppers hushed to listen, and the 
sea-breeze which had just arisen, carried away 
the notes with the petals of the flowers that 
had fallen from the vases to the edge of the 
terrace. 

“ Uncle sleeps as soundly as the seven sleepers 
in their cave. If it were not habitual with him, 
we might be wounded in our vanity as virtu- 
osos,” observed Alicia as she closed the music 
book. “Will you come to the garden with me 
Paul, while he is resting? You have not seen 
my paradise.” 

As she spoke she took a large Florence 


II2 


THE EVIL EYE. 


straw hat that hung on a nail on one of the 
columns. 

Alicia professed the most fantastic principles 
in regard to horticulture. She would neither 
have a flower plucked, nor a branch cut; and 
what had most charmed her in this villa, was 
the wild uncultured state of the garden. 

The two young people made their way 
through the thick branches, that immediately 
rejoined after their passage. Alicia walked 
ahead, langhing merrily to see Paul lashed by 
the laurel branches she displaced. They had 
scarcely gone twenty paces when one of the 
green boughs caught up her hat and, as if 
through mischievousness, held it so far above 
them that Paul was unable to reach it. 

Fortunately the foliage was so thick that the 
sun scarcely penetrated through the interstices 
of the branches, only dotting the sand here 
and there with a few golden sequins. 

“This is my favorite retreat.’’ said Alicia, 
pointing to a picturesque fragment of rock, 
shaded by a thicket of orange trees, mastichs 
and myrtles. 

She seated herself on this stone, and 


THE EVIL EYE. 


II3 

motioned to Paul to kneel before her on the 
thick carpet of dry moss at her feet. 

“Place your two hands in mine and look me 
straight in the face,” she said. “In one month 
I shall be your wife. But why do your eyes 
avoid mine?” 

Paul had returned to his thoughts of 
Jettatura, and was avoiding her gaze. 

“Do you fear to read a contrary or guilty 
thought?” she continued. “You know that 
my heart is yours since the day you brought 
that letter of introduction to us in Richmond. 
I belong to that loving, romantic and proud 
English race in which one moment will implant 
a love that will last as long as life — longer 
than life perhaps — and they who know how to 
love know how to die. Look straight into my 
eyes, I wish it; do not lower your eyelids, do 
not turn away, or I shall think that a gentle- 
man who should fear but God has allowed him- 
self to be frightened by vile superstitions. Fix 
on me that eye you believe so terrible, and 
which is so sweet to me, for in it I read your 
love, and judge if you still find me pretty 


THE EVIL EYE. 


II4 

enough to drive me through Hyde Park in an 
open carriage after our marriage.” 

Paul, conquered, fixed on Alicia a gaze full of 
love and enthusiasm. Suddenly the young 
girl turned pale, a sharp pain pierced her heart 
like the point of an arrow; it seemed as if 
something had burst within her breast and she 
quickly raised her handkerchief to her lips. A 
red drop stained the fine cambric which Alicia 
quickly replaced in her pocket, saying: 

“Oh! thank you Paul; you have made me 
very happy. I feared you loved me no longer.” 


THE EVIL EYE. 


TI5 


CHAPTER X. 

Notwithstanding Alicia’s haste in concealing 
her handkerchief, the blood stain did not 
escape Paul d’Aspremont’s eye. A frightful 
pallor overspread his features, an irrefutable 
proof of his fatal power had been given him 
and the most sinister ideas crossed his brain. 
For a moment the thought of suicide presented 
itself to him. Was it not his duty to suppress 
and destroy, as if it were an evil being, the in- 
voluntary cause of so much misfortune? For 
himself he would have accepted the hardest 
trials and borne courageously the weight of life; 
but to give death to the one he loved most 
on earth! The horrible thought almost drove 
him mad. 

The heroic young girl had dominated the 
sensation of pain caused by Paul’s glance and 
which coincided so strangely with Count 
d’Altavilla’s words of warning. A weaker 
mind might have been struck by this result, 
which, if not supernatural, was at least difficult 
to explain; but, as we have said, Alicia’s soul 


THE EVIL EYE. 


Il6 

was religious and not superstitious. Her firm 
faith in what should be believed rejected all ^ 
these stories of mysterious influences as nursery 
tales and scorned the most deeply rooted pre- 
judices. Moreover, even had she admitted the 
jettatura as real and recognized the evident 
signs in Paul, her proud and affectionate heart 
would not have hesitated a second. Paul had 
committed no action which even the most 
delicate susceptibility could reprove, and 
Alicia would have preferred to have fallen 
dead under this so-called fatal glance, than to 
recoil from a love accepted by her and sanc- 
tioned by her uncle, and which was soon to be 
crowned by marriage. She resembled those 
heroines of Shakespeare, chastily bold and vir- 
ginally resolute, whose sudden love is none the 
less pure and faithful, and whom a single mo- 
ment binds forever. Her hand had pressed 
Paul’s, and no other man in the world should 
ever clasp her fingers. She considered her 
life as chained, and her modesty rebelled at 
the mere idea of another man. 

She therefore displayed a gaiety so real, or 
so well played, that it would have deceived the 


THE EVIL EYE. 


II7 

most shrewd observer, and, raising Paul who 
was still kneeling at her feet, they wandered 
through the paths obstructed by flowers and 
uncultivated plants, until they reached a spot 
where the branches were less thick, and they 
could contemplate the sea that stretched far 
away like a blue dream of infinity. 

This luminous serenity dispelled Paul’s 
gloomy thoughts; Alicia leaned confidingly on 
the young man’s arm as if she were already his 
wife. By this pure and silent caress, insignifi- 
cant to others, decisive to her, she gave herself 
to him still more formally; reassuring him 
against his terrors, and making him understand 
how little weight she placed in the dangers of 
which she was warned. Although she had im- 
posed silence first on Vic^, then on her 
uncle, and Count d’Altavilla had named no- 
one when he had warned her to beware of evil 
influences, she had quickly understood that his 
allusions pointed to Paul d’Aspremont. The 
obscure words of the young Neapolitan Count 
could have reference to no one bjut the young 
Frenchman. 

She also saw that Paul, yieldingto the prev- 


8 


THE EVIL EYE. 


alent prejudice of Naples, which makes a 
jettatore of any one possessing a peculiar phy- 
siognomy, by an unconceivable weakness of 
mind believed himself a victim to the fascino, 
and turned his loving eyes away from her, 
through fear of injuring her by his glance. 
To overcome this dawning conviction, she had 
brought about the scene we have just described, 
but the result had been contrary to the inten- 
tion, for Paul was now more firmly anchored 
than ever in his fatal monomania. 

The two lovers returned to the terrace, where 
the Commodore, still under the influence of the 
music, was sleeping melodiously in his bamboo 
arm-chair. Paul took his leave, and Alicia 
mimicking the Neapolitan gesture of adieu, 
wafted him a kiss from the tips of her fingers, 
saying in a tenderly caressing voice: 

“You will come to-morrow, Paul, will you 
not?” 

The Commodore who was awakened by 
Paul’s departure, was struck by the radiant, 
alarming, almost supernatural beauty of Alicia 
at this moment. The whites of her eyes 
seemed like burnished silver and the pupils 


THE EVIL EYE. 


II9 

sparkled like black luminous stars. Her 
cheeks were of an ideal rose tint, of a purity 
and celestial ardor which no artist could ever 
produce on canvas; her temples, of agate 
transparency, were veined with a net-work of 
delicate blue threads, and all her flesh seemed 
penetrated by luminous rays, as if her soul 
were struggling to burst its envelope. 

“ How beautiful you are to-day Alicia,” ex- 
claimed the Commodore. 

“You spoil me, uncle,” she replied, “and if 
I am not the vainest little girl in the three 
kingdoms, it is not your fault. Fortunately I 
do not believe in flattery, even when dis- 
interested.” 

“Beautiful, dangerously beautiful,” murmured 
the Commodore to himself. “She reminds me 
of poor Nancy, her mother, who died at nine- 
teen. Such angels cannot remain on earth; it 
seems as if a breath would suffice to waft them 
away, and as if invisible wings fluttered on their 
shoulders. They are too white, too rosy, too 
pure, too perfect. These ethereal bodies lack 
the red blood and grossness of life. God lends 
them for a few days only to this world and 


120 


THE EVIL EYE. 


hastens to call them back. That supreme beauty 
saddens me like an adieu.” 

“Well then,” said Alicia gaily, as she noticed 
the cloud on her uncle’s brow, ‘.‘since I am so 
pretty, it is time to marry me. The veil and 
orange blossoms would become me.” 

“Marry! Are you then in such a hurry to 
leave your poor old uncle, Alicia?” 

“I shall not leave you. Is it not understood 
that M. d’Aspremont and myself are to live 
with you? You know very well that I would 
not live without you.” 

“M. d’Aspremont! M. d’Aspremont! — The 
wedding is not over yet.” 

“Has he not your word — and mine? Sir 
Joshua Ward has never yet failed to keep his 
word.” 

“He has my word, it is true,” replied the 
Commodore, evidently embarrassed. 

“Have we not waited the six months enjoined 
by you?” said Alicia her cheeks flushing, for 
this conversation, made necessary by the actual 
state of things, shocked her sensitive delicacy. 

“Oh ! You have counted the months, my child. 
Trust to those discreet little girls.” 


THE EVIL EYE. 


I2I 


“I love M. d'Aspremont,” said the young girl 
gravely. 

“A fine conclusion!” exclaimed Sir Joshua 
Ward, who imbued as he was with the ideas of 
Vice and d’Altavilla, was little inclined to see 
his adored niece married to a jettatore. “Why 
do you not love another?” 

“I have not two hearts,” said Alicia simply. 
“I shall have but one love, even though, like 
my mother, I die at nineteen.” 

“Die! don’t say such horrible words. I be- 
seech you?” cried the Commodore. 

“Have you any fault to find with M. d’Aspre- 
mont?’’ 

“None, assuredly.” 

“Has he ever acted in a dishonorable man- 
ner? Has he ever shown himself perfidious, 
deceitful or cowardly? Has he ever insulted 
a woman or feared a man? Is his escutcheon 
tarnished by any secret stain? Has a young 
girl cause to blush or lower her eyes, in taking 
his arm to appear before the world?” 

“M. d’ Aspremont is a perfect gentleman, 
and nothing can be said against his respecta- 
bility.” 


122 


THE EVIL EYE. 


“Believe me, uncle, if anything of the kind 
existed, 1 would renounce M. d’ Aspremont at 
once and bury myself in some inaccessible 
retreat; but no other reason, do you under- 
stand? no other reason can make me break a 
sacred promise,” said Alicia in a gentle but 
firm tone. 

The Commodore twirled his thumbs, as he 
always did when at a loss to know what to say, 
and remained silent. 

“Why are you so cold to Paul now,” con- 
tinued Alicia. “You showed so much affec- 
tion for him in England, and you were insep- 
arable in our Lincolnshire cottage. And when 
you pressed his hand with a pressure, strong 
enough to break his fingers, you repeatedly as- 
sured him that he was a worthy man, to whom 
you should willingly confide the happiness of 
a young girl.” 

“Yes, indeed,! loved Paul,” replied the Com- 
modore, moved by these timely recollections, 
“but what was obscure in the fogs of England, 
became clear in the sunlight of Naples.” 

“What do you mean?” interrupted Alicia in 
trembling voice, her bright colors suddenly 


THE EVIL EYE. 


23 


fading from her cheeks, leaving her as white as 
an alabaster statue on a tomb. 

“That Paul is a jettatore.” 

“What! you! my uncle ! you, Sir Joshua 
Ward, a gentleman, a Christian, a subject of 
her Britannic Majesty, a retired officer of 
the English Navy, an enlightened and civilized 
being, whom one would consult on everything; 
you who have learning and wisdom, who read 
the Bible and Gospel every night, you do not 
fear to accuse Paul of jettatura! Oh! I did 
not expect that of you!” 

“My dear Alicia,” replied the Commodore, 
“I am perhaps all you say when you are not 
concerned; but when a danger,even imaginary, 
threatens you I become more superstitious 
than a peasant of Abruzzo, a lazzarone of the 
quay, an ostricaio of Chiaja, a servant of the 
Land of Labor, or even a Neapolitan count. 
Paul may stare at me as much as he pleases 
with his eyes whose visual rays cross, and I 
will be as calm as if I stood before the 
point of a sword, or the barrel of a pistol. The 
fascino will not bite through my tough skin, 
tanned by all the suns of the universe. I am 


124 


THE EVIL EYE. 


credulous only when you are concerned, my 
dear niece, and I admit that I feel a cold perspira- 
tion on my temples, whenever the gaze of that 
unfortunate young man rests on you. I know' 
that he has no evil intentions, and that he loves 
you more than his life, but it seems to me that 
under that influence your features alter, your 
colors disapppear, and that you try to conceal 
acute sufferings. Then I am seized with 
the furious desire of putting out the eyes of 
your M. Paul d’Aspremont, with the points of 
the horns given by Altavilla.” 

“Poor dear uncle,” said Alicia, softened by 
the warm explosion of the Commodore; “our 
lives are in the hands of God. There does not 
die a prince on his sumptuous bed, nor a spar- 
row in its nest under the eaves, whose hour has 
not sounded above. The fascino has nothing 
to do with it, and it is impious to believe that 
a glance more or less oblique can have any in- 
fluence. Come, uncle,” she continued assuming 
the term of familiar affection of the fool in 
King Lear, “you were not speaking seriously a 
few moments ago ; your affection for me blinded 
your judgment. Is it not so? You would not 


THE EVIL EYE. 


25 


dare tell M. Paul d’ Aspremont that you with- 
draw the hand of your niece, placed, in his by 
yourself, and that you will not accept him under 
the pretext that he is — a jettatore.” 

“By Joshua! my patron, who stopped the 
sun,” cried the Commodore, “I will tell him to 
his face. I do not care if I am ridiculous, ab- 
surd, disloyal even, when it is a question of 
your health, of your life perhaps! I pledged 
my word to a man, not to a jettatore. I prom- 
ised? well then! I will fail in my promises; and 
if he does not like it, I will give him satisfac- 
tion.” 

And the exasperated Commodore executed 
a parry, unmindful of the gout that bit at his 
toes. 

“Sir Joshua Ward, you will do nothing of 
the kind,” said Alicia with a calm dignity. 

The Commodore fell back breg.thless into his 
arm chair and remained silent. 

“ Well, uncle, even if this odious and stupid 
accusation were true, should we on that account 
repulse M. d’Aspremont, and make a crime of 
a misfortune. Have you not considered that 
the injury he might produce would be inde- 


26 


THE EVIL EYE. 


pendent of his will, and that there could never 
be a more affectionate, generous and noble 
soul?” 

“We do not marry vampires, however good 
their intentions may be.” 

“But all this is chimerical, extravagant, and 
mere superstition. What is unfortunately true, 
is that Paul believes in this foolishness, which 
he takes seriously; and he is frightened, hallu- 
cinated. He believes in his fatal power, he is 
afraid of himself, and every little accident, 
which he would not have remarked formerly 
and of which he now believes himself the 
cause, confirms this, conviction in him. Is it 
not for me, who am his wife before God and 
soon will be before men also, — with your bless- 
ing, my dear uncle — to calm this overexcited 
imagination, drive away this vain phantom, to 
reassure by my apparent and real security, 
this haggard anxiety, sister of monomania, and 
save through happiness this beautiful, troubled 
soul, this bright intellect in peril.” 

“You are always right. Miss Ward,” said the 
Commodore, “and I, whom you call wise, am 
but an old fool. I believe Vice must be a sor- 


THE EVIL EYE. 


127 


ceress, she has turned my head with all her 
stories. As to the Count Altavilla, his horns 
and cabalistic trinkets now seem quite ridiculous 
to me. It was, no doubt, a stratagem planned 
to get rid of Paul and many you himself.” 

“The Count Altavilla may be sincere in what 
he says,” said Alicia smilingly; “you were of 
his opinion in regard to the jettatura only a 
few moments ago.” 

“Do not abuse the advantage you have. Miss 
Alicia, for I am not sufficiently recovered from 
my error, not to fall back into it. The best 
thing we can do is to leave Naples by the first 
steamer and return quietly to England. When 
Paul no longer sees the horns and antlers, the 
outstretched fingers, coral charms and all these 
diabolic machines, his imagination will become 
tranquilized, and even I will forget this ab- 
surdity, which almost made me break my word 
and commit an action unworthy of a gentle- 
man. You will marry Paul since it is agreed. 
You will reserve the parlor and bedroom on the 
first floor in the house at Richmond for me, the 
octogon tower in the Lincolnshire castle, and 
we shall live happily together. If your health 


128 


THE EVIL EYE. 


demands a warmer climate, we can rent a coun- 
try house in the vicinity of Tours, or at Cannes, 
where Lord Brougham owns a magnificent prop- 
erty, and where these damnable superstitions 
of the jettatura are unknown, thank God! 
What do you think of my plan, Alicia?” 

“You have no need of my approbation, am I 
not the most obedient of nieces?” 

“Yes, as long as I do as you wish, little 
rogue,” said the Commodore with a smile as he 
arose to regain his room. 

Alicia remained a few minutes longer on the 
terrace. But whether this scene had been too 
exciting for her, or that Paul really exercised 
over the young girl the influence feared by the 
Commodore, the soft breeze, blowing on her 
shoulders, protected only by a delicate muslin, 
caused her a glacial impression, and that night 
she begged Vice to spread one of the Veni- 
tian coverings over her feet, which were as 
cold and white as marble. 

Nevertheless, the fire-fly flittered on the 
sward, the cricket chirped, and the large yel- 
low moon swam in the sky through a warm mist. 


THE EVIL EYE. 


129 


CHAPTER XL 

T he morning following this scene, Alicia, 
who had spent a bad night, barely touched 
her lips to the drink offered her every morning 
by Vice, and replaced it wearily on the table by 
her bedside. She experienced no actual pain^ 
but felt a strange weariness; it was rather a 
difficulty to live than a malady, and she could 
scarcely have described its symptoms to a phy- 
sician. She called for a mirror, for a young 
girl is more troubled by the alteration suffer- 
ing may produce on her beauty than by the 
suffering itself. She was extremely pale; only 
two red spots, like the petals of Bengal roses 
fallen in a cup of milk, swam on her white 
cheeks. Pier eyes shone with unusual bright- 
ness, lighted up by the last flames of fever; but 
the cherry lips were pale, and she bit them with 
her pearly teeth to bring back the color. 

She arose, enveloped herself in a white cash- 
mere morning gown, wrapped a gauzy scarf 
around her head — for, notwithstanding the 
ardent heat, she still felt chilled — and went 


130 THE EVIL EYE. 

down to the terrace at the usual hour that she 
might not awaken the ever watchful solicitude 
of the Commodore. Although she was not at 
all hungry, she forced some food down her 
throat, for she knew that the least indication of 
illness would be attributed by Sir Joshua Ward 
to Paul’s influence, and this was what Alicia 
was anxious to avoid above all things. 

Then, under pretext that the dazzling light 
of the day fatigued her, she retired to her 
room, not without, however, having reiterated 
many times to the Commodore, who was sus- 
picious in such matters, the assurances that she 
was delightfully well. 

“ Delightfully well — I doubt it, ” muttered 
the Commodore to himself when his niece had 
disappeared. “ She has dark circles around her 
eyes and a feverish color in her cheeks just like 
her poor mother, who also insisted that she was 
delightfully well. What can I do? Take Paul 
away from her? That would be killing her in 
another way. I must wait and see what time 
will do, Alicia is so yoiing! Ah! yes, but old 
Mob always robs us of the youngest and 
most fair; she is as jealous as a woman. Why 


THE EVIL EYE. 


13 


not send for a physician? But alas! what can 
medicine do for an angel? Yet all the alarm- 
ing symptoms have disappeared. Ah! accursed 
Paul, if it were you whose breath bowed down 
this divine flower, I would strangle you with my 
own hands. But then, Nancy was not under 
the influence of the glance of a jettatore, and 
she died. If Alicia were to die! No, it is not 
possible. I have done no wrong that God 
should reserve for me such frightful sorrow. 
When that sad event happens I shall be 
sleeping in the shadow of my native village 
steeple beneath a tomb stone inscribed: 
‘ Sacred to the memory of Sir Joshua Ward! It is 
she who will weep and pray on the gray stone for 
the old Commodore — Bah! I know not why; 
but I am devilish gloomy and melancholy this 
morning!” > * 

To dispel these gloomy ideas, the Commo- 
dore added a little Jamaica rum to his now al- 
most cold tea, and called for his hookah, an in- 
nocent distraction he allowed himself only in 
Alicia’s absence, as she might have been an- 
noyed even by this light smoke mingled with 

perfume. 

9 


132 


THE EVIL EYE. 


The aromatized water was already boiling in 
its receptacle and he had already puffed a few 
bluish clouds, when Vice announced Count 
d’Altavilla. “ Sir Joshua,” said the Count, 
after the first greeting, “ have you reflected on 
the proposal I made the other day ?” 

“ I have reflected,” replied the Commodore, 
“ but as you are aware M. Paul d’Aspremont 
has my word.” 

” It is true, but there are circumstances when 
a gentleman may withdraw his word; for in- 
stance, when the man to whom it was given, for 
some reason or other, is not what he was at 
first believed to be.” 

“ Count, I beseech you, speak more clearly.” 

“ It is repugnant to me to accuse a rival. But 
after the conversation we have already had 
you must understand me. If you rejected M. 
Paul d’Aspremont, would you accept me as 
your niece’s husband?” 

“ I certainly would, but I am not so sure that 
Miss Ward would be pleased by the substitution. 
She is in love with this Paul, and I must admit 
that it is my own fault to some extent, for I fa- 
vored the young man myself before hearing all 


THE EVIL EYE. I33 

these foolish stories — pardon the epithet Count, 
but my brain is really topsy-turvy.” 

“Do you wish your niece to die?” asked 
Altavilla in a grave and tender tone. 

“ Blood and thunder! My niece die!” cried 
the Commodore starting from his chair and 
dashing his hookah to the ground. 

This sensitive chord in Sir Joshua Ward 
always vibrated to the touch. 

“Is my niece then dangerously ill?” he 
added agitatedly. 

“ Do not be alarmed, Sir Joshua; Miss Alicia 
may live many years yet.” 

“ So much the better! you gave me quite a 
start.” 

“ But on one condition,” continued Altavilla, 
not heeding the interruption, “she must not 
again see M. Pauld’Aspremont.” 

“ Ah! thejettatura ©nee more! Unfortunately, 
Miss Ward does not believe in it.” 

“Listen,” said the Count gravely. “When 
I met Miss Alicia for the first time at the Prince 
of Syracuse’s ball and conceived a passion for 
her, as ardent as it was respectful, it was glow- 
ing health, the joy of existence, the flower of 


134 


THE EVIL EYE. 


life, that bloomed in her whole person and 
which struck me at first. Her beauty was 
dazzling and floated, as it were, in an atmos- 
phere of health. This phosphorescence made 
her shine like a star. She threw in the shade 
English, Russians and Italians, and I saw but 
her, To distinction was added the pure and 
strong grace of a goddess; excuse this mythol- 
ogy in a descendant of Greeks.” 

“ It is true, she was beautiful! Miss Edwina 
O’Herty, Lady Eleonor Lilly, Miss Jane 
Strangford and Princess Vera Fedorowna Bari- 
atineki turned yellow with envy,” said the 
enchanted Commodore. 

“ And now do you not notice that her beauty 
has assumed something of languor, that 
her features have become more delicate, her 
hands more transparent than they should 
be, that her voice has a painful charm, 
an alarming vibration? The terrestrial ele- 
ment is vanishing, leaving the angelic ele- 
ment to dominate. Miss Alicia has become 
of ethereal perfection and though you may find 
me material, I must admit that I do not like to 
see this in young girls of this globe;” 


THE EVIL EYE. 


135 


The Count’s words agreed so well with his 
secret apprehensions, that Sir Joshua Ward re- 
mained silent for a few moments, lost in a deep 
reverie. 

“ It is all true,” he said at last; “ although I 
sometimes try to deceive myself, I cannot be 
blind to it.” 

“ This is not all,” resumed the Count. “ had 
Miss Aliciajs health caused you any anxiety 
previous to M. Paul d’Aspremont’s arrival in 
England?” 

“Never; she was the most blooming and 
gayest child in the three kingdoms.” 

“ As you see, M. d’Aspremont’s presence 
coincides with the periods of illness that un- 
dermine Miss Alicia’s precious health. I do 
not ask you, a northern man, to believe im- 
plicitly in a prejudice, a superstition, — if you 
wish to call it so — of our Southern country, but 
you must admit that these facts are strange 
and deserve your attention.” 

“Might not Alicia be ill — naturally?” stam- 
mered the Commpdore, shaken by the captious 
reasonings of Altavilla, but retaining a sort of 


THE EVIL EYE. 


136 

English shame at adopting a popular Nea- 
politan belief. 

“ Miss Alicia is not ill; she is the victim of a 
sort of poisoning by the glance, and if M. d’As- 
premont is not a jettatore, he is at least cal- 
amitous. 

“What can I do?” asked the Commodore in 
despair, ‘-‘she loves Paul, laughs at the jettatura 
and insists that we cannot refuse ap honorable 
man by giving such reasons.” 

“I have no right to interfere with your niece, 
I am neither her brother, her relative, nor her 
fiancee; but if I obtained your consent, I would 
certainly make an effort to tear her from this 
fatal influence. Oh! fear not; I will do nothing 
rash — although young, I know that a young 
girl’s name must be preciously guarded. Only 
permit me to keep my plan a secret. Have 
enough confidence in me to believe that I 
would do nothing that the most delicate honor 
could object to. 

“Your love for my niece must be deep?” 
said the Commodore. 

“Yes, since I love her without hope. But do 
you grant me the license to act?” 


THE EVIL EYE. 


137 


“You are a terrible man, Count Altavilla. Ah 
well! try to save Alicia your own way, I will 
not find it bad, and will not even find it very 
good.” 

The Count arose, bowed, returned to his car- 
riage and ordered the coachman to drive to 
the Hotel de Rome. 

Paul, his elbows on the table, his face buried 
in his hand, was plunged in the most painful 
reflections. He had seen the blood stains on 
Alicia’s handkerchief, and, still infatuated by 
his fixed idea, he reproached himself for his 
murderous love. He felt himself guilty in ac- 
cepting the devotion of this beautiful young 
girl resolved to die for him, and asked himself 
by what superhuman sacrifice he could repay 
this sublime abnegation. 

Paddy, the dwarf jockey, interrupted this 
meditation by presenting the Count’s card. 

“Count Altavilla!” exclaimed Paul in sur- 
prise. “What can he want of me? Show him 
in.” 

When the Neapolitan Count appeared in the 

door, M. d’Aspremont had already disguised 

his astonishment under that mask of glacial in- 
9 


138 THE EVIL EYE. 

difference which assists people of the world in 
concealing their impressions. 

He pointed to a chair with cold politeness, 
resumed his own seat, and awaited in silence, 
his eyes fixed on the visitor. 

“Monsieur,” began the Count, toying with 
the trinkets on his watch-chain, “what I have to 
say is so strange, so out of place, so improper 
that you would have the right to pitch me 
out of the window. — Spare me that brutality, 
I beg you, for I am ready to give you satisfac- 
tion as a gentlenam.” 

“I am listening. Monsieur, but I reserve the 
right to take advantage of your offer, if your 
conversation does not suit me,” replied Paul, 
without moving one muscle of his face. 

“You are a jettatore!” 

At these words a greenish pallor suddenly 
overspread M. d’Aspremont’s features, a red- 
dish aureole encircled his eyes, his eyebrows 
contracted, the wrinkle deepened in his fore- 
head, and his pupils flashed -like sulphurous 
lights. He half raised himself, tearing with his 
clenched hands the arms of his bamboo chair. 
It was so terrible that Altavilla, though a 


THE EVIL EYE. 


139 


brave man, instinctively seized one of the 
double branches of coral attached to his chain 
and directed its points toward his interlocutor, 

By a supreme effort of will, Paul controlled 
himself and fell back into his chair. 

“You were right. Monsieur,” he said coldly, 
“such indeed was the recompense merited by 
insult, but I will have the patience to await 
another reparation.” 

“Believe me,” continued the Count, “I would 
not offer a gentleman this insult, which can be 
washed out only in blood, without the gravest 
motives. I love Miss Alicia Ward!” 

“What matters it to me?” 

“It matters little in fact, for you are loved. 
But I, Don Felipe Altavilla, I forbid you to see 
Miss Alicia Ward.” 

“I take no orders from you.” 

“I know it,” replied the Neapolitan Count, 
“and I have no hope that you will obey me.” 

“Then what is your motive?” asked Paul. 

“I have the conviction that the fascino with 
which you are gifted, unfortunately, influences 
Miss Alicia Ward in a fatal manner. It is an 
absurd idea, a prejudice worthy of the Middle 


140 


THE EVIL EYE. 


Ages, and must appear very ridiculous to you; 
but we will not discuss that question. When- 
ever your eyes rest on Miss Ward you influ- 
ence her with that evil glance which will kill 
her. I have no means to prevent this sad re- 
sult, but to quarrel with you, German fashion. 
In the sixteenth century, I would have had you 
killed by one of my mountain peasants; but in 
our days those methods are not in vogue. I 
"bought of begging you to return to. France; it 
)vas too naive: you would have laughed at the 
rival who told you to go and leave him alone 
\iear your fi xncee, under pretext of jettatura.” 

V/h;le the Count talked on, Paul d’Aspre- 
•nont felt himself invaded by a secret horror, 
'le, a Christian, was then a victim of the 
powers of hell, and the fallen angel looked out 
through his pupils! He sowed catastrophies 
in his path, his love gave death! For an in- 
stant his reason tottered, and madness beat its 
wings within the walls of his brain. 

“Count, on your honor, do you believe what 
you say?” cried Paul, after a short silence 
which Altavilla respected 

“On my honor, I believe it,” he replied, 


THE EVIL EYE. 


I4I 

“Oh! then, it must be true!” said Paul in a 
strange voice. “I am a assassin, a demon, a 
vampire! I am killing that celestial being, and 
reducing her poor uncle to despair!” 

He was on the point of promising the count 
not to see Alicia again, but self-respect and the 
jealousy that was awakening in his heart, 
choked back the words from his lips. 

“Count,” he said gravely,” I will not conceal 
the fact, that I am going to see Miss Ward at 
once.” 

“I will not take you by the collar to prevent 
you,” replied the count, “you spared me the 
humilation a few moments ago, and I am grate- 
ful. But I shall be delighted to see you to- 
morrow at six o’clock in the ruins of Pompeii, 
in the thermal hall, let us say, it is a very good 
place. What arms do you prefer? You are 
the offended party: sword or pistol?” 

“We shall fight with daggers and with eyes 
bandaged, separated by a handkerchief of which 
we shall each hold one end. We must equalize 
the chances: I am a jettatore; I might kill you 
with one glance, Monsieur le Comte!” 

As he said these words, Paul d’Aspremont 


42 


THE EVIL EYE. 


burst into a bitter laugh, pushed open a door, 
and disappeared. 




THE EVIL EYE. 


143 


CHAPTER XII. 


licia had taken possession of a low room, 



with walls adorned with landscapes in 
fresco, which in Italy, replaces wall paper. 
Mats of Manilla straw covered the floor; a table 
with a Turkish cover on which were scattered 
the poems of Coleridge, Shelley, Tennyson and 
Longfellow; a mirror with antique frame, and 
a few cane chairs composed the furnishings of 
this simple room. Blinds of Chinabamboo, em- 
bellished with pagodas, rocks, willows, cranes, 
and dragons, were adjusted to the door and 
windows, allowing only a soft subdued light to 
filter into the room; an orange branch, loaded 
with flowers, penetrated familiarly into the 
room and stretched like a wreath above Alicia’s 
head, showering a perfumed snow over her. 

The young girl was still suffering and reclined 
on a narrow sofa near the window. She was 
half raised by two or three cushions and a 
Venetian rug was carelessly thrown over her 
feet. Thus she could receive Paul without 
offending the laws of English propriety. 


144 


THE EVIL EYE. 


The book she had been reading had slipped 
unheeded to the floor, and her eyes wandered 
vaguely, seeming to look beyond this world 
from under the long eye-lashes. She experi- 
enced that almost voluptuous languor that fol- 
lows a fever, and she listlessly ate the orange 
flowers that showered around her, enjoying the 
bitter perfume. Is there not a Venus eating 
roses of Schiavone? What a graceful counter- 
part a modern artist could have made to the 
painting of the old Venetian -by representing 
Alicia nibbling orange flowers! 

She was thinking of Paul and asking herself 
if she would really live long enough to be his 
wife. Not that she believed in the jettatura, 
but she felt herself a prey, in spite of herself, 
to gloomy presentiments; the previous night 
she had a dream, the impression of which had 
been dispelled by her awakening. 

In her dream, she was lying on her couch, 
though wide awake, with her eyes fixed on the 
door of her chamber, feeling a presentiment 
that someone would appear. After two or three 
minutes of anxious waiting she saw on the 
threshold a delicate female form, which, at first 


THE EVIL EYE. 


145 


seemed quite transparent, allowing objects to 
be seen through her as if throygh a light mist, 
but assuming more consistency as she approach- 
ed the bed. 

She wore a muslin dress, the folds trailing 
on the ground; spiral waves of long black hair 
framed the pale face, with small round spots on 
th^ cheek bones. The skin of the throat and 
breast was so white that it confounded itself 
with the dress, making it impossible to tell 
where the skin ended and the dress began. A 
delicate Venetian necklace encircled the slen- 
der throat with a narrow band of gold, and the 
white blue veined hands held a flower — a tea 
rose — the petals of which fell to the ground 
like tears. 

Alicia had never known her mother, who had 
died a year after her birth, but she had often 
stood in contemplation before an almost faded 
miniature, showing the waxy color seen in the 
dying, and which seemed more like the por- 
trait of a shadow than that of the living, and 
she realized that this woman entering the room 
was Nancy Ward — her mother. The white 
dress, the necklace, the black hair, the white 


46 


THE EVIL EYE. 


cheeks tinged with rose, nothing was wanting. 
It was indeed the miniature, enlarged, devel- 
oped, imbued with all the reality of a dream. 

A feeling of tenderness mingled with terror 
made Alicia’s heart beat fast. She tried to 
extend her arms toward the shadow, but her 
arms seemed heavy as marble and she could 
not raise them from the couch on which they 
rested. She tried to speak, but her tongue 
only stammered confused syllables. 

After placing the tea-rose on the table, Nancy 
knelt beside the bed and laid hand on Alicia’s 
heart, listening to the breathing, counting the 
beatings of the heart; the cold cheek of the 
shadow caused the young girl, who was fright- 
ened by this silent auscultation, the sensation 
of a lump of ice. 

The apparition then arose, cast a sorrowful 
glance on the young girl, and counting the 
leaves on the rose from which a few more 
petals had fallen, she said: 

“There is but one left.” 

Then slumber had interposed its black veil 
between the shadow and the sleeper, and all 
had become confounded in the night. 


THE EVIL EYE. 


147 


Had the spirit of her mother come to warn 
her and take her away? What signified that 
mysterious phrase fallen from the lips of the 
shadow: “There is but one left?” Was this 
pale, leafless rose the symbol of her life? This 
strange dream, with its fascinating terrors and 
frightful charm, this graceful spectre draped in 
muslin and counting the flower petals, pre- 
occupied the young girl’s imagination. A 
shadow of melancholy hovered over her beau 
tiful brow and an undefinable presentiment 
brushed its black wings against her. 

Did not this orange branch showering its 
flowers on her have a funereal meaning? the 
small virginal stars would not then bloom 
under her bridal veil? Saddened and pensive, 
Alicia withdrew the flowers she was biting 
from her lips; they were already withered and 
yellow. 

The hour of Paul’s visit was approaching; 
Alicia made an effort to appear well. She 
twisted her curls about her fingers, readjusted 
the folds of her gauze scarf, and picked up 
a book to appear occupied. 

Paul entered, and Alicia welcomed him with 
10 


THE EVIL EYE. 


148 

a gay laugh, that he might not be alan>-cd at 
finding her lying down, for he would no* have 
failed to believe himself the cause of her ill- 
ness. The scene that had just taken place 
between himself and the Count gave Paul a 
wild and irritated expression that caused Vice 
to make the exorcising sign, but the affectionate 
smile of Alicia soon dispelled the cloud. 

“I hope you are not seriously ill,” he said, 
seating himself at her side. 

“Oh! it is nothing, only a little fatigue. We 
had a southeast wind yesterday, and that Afri- 
can sirocco overcame me. But you shall see 
how well I will be in our Lincolnshire cottage! 
Now that I am strong we will go boating every 
day on the pond.” 

As she spoke, she made an effort to repress 
a little convulsive cough. 

Paul d’Aspremont turned pale and looked 
away. 

Silence then reigned for a few moments. 

“Paul, I have never given you anything,” 
said Alicia, taking from her already emaciated 
finger a plain gold ring; “take this ring and 
keep it in remembrance of me. You can, per- 


THE EVIL EYE. 


149 


haps wear it, for you have the hand of a woman 
— Adieu! I feel weary and will try to sleep. 
Come to me to-morrow.” 

Paul withdrew heart-broken. Alicia’s efforts 
to conceal her sufferings had been in vain. He 
loved her wildy, passionately, and he was kill- 
ing her. Was not this ring she had just given 
him a ring of betrothal for the next world? 

He wandered aimlessly on the beach, half 
crazed, dreaming of flight, of burying himself 
in a monastery, with the Trappists, and there 
awaiting death, seated on his coffin, without ever 
raising the hood of his frock. He reproached 
himself with ingratitude and cowardice for not 
sacrificing his love, and for abusing the heroism 
of Alicia. 

“Yes,” he murmured half aloud, “this hand- 
some Neapolitan Count whom she scorns loves 
her truly. His unselfish love shames mine. To 
save Alicia, he did not fear to attack me, to 
challenge me, a jettatore, that is, in his opinion, 
a being as redoubtable as a demon. Whilst he 
spoke, he toyed with his charms against the 
fascino, and the eyes of this celebrated duelist, 
who has killed three men, shrunk before mine.” 


150 


THE EVIL EYE. 


He returned to the hotel, wrote a few letters, 
made his will, leaving all he possessed to Miss 
Alicia Ward, save a bequest to Paddy, and made 
all the indispensable dispositions a gentleman 
should take on the eve of a duel to the death. 

He then opened a box lined with green serge, 
in which he kept his arms. He took out alter- 
nately swords, pistols, huntingknives, and finally 
came to two Corsican stilettos, perfectly alike, 
which he had bought as a gift to a friend. 

They were two blades of pure steel, thick 
near the handle, sharp on both sides toward 
the point, embossed curiously, and mounted 
with care. He next chose three silk handker- 
chiefs and made one bundle of the whole. 

He then ordered Scazzigo to be ready very 
early the next morning for an excursion in the 
country. 

“Oh!” he cried as he threw himself on the 
bed without removing his clothes, “may heaven 
grant that this combat be fatal to me! If I 
had the happinessof being killed — Alicia would 
live!” 


THE EVIL EYE. 


I5I 


CHAPTER XIII. 

P ompeii, the dead city, does not awaken 
in the morning like her living sisters, and 
although she has half thrown off the pall of ashes 
that covered her for so many centuries, even 
when night fades away she remains asleep still 
on her funeral couch. 

The tourists of all nations who visit her 
during the day are at that early hour still 
stretched on their beds, worn out by the 
fatigues of their excursions, and as dawn breaks 
over the ruins of the ancient city it lights up 
no human face. The lizards alone crawl along 
the walls and over the disjointed mosaics, 
unmindful of the “ Cave canem ” inscribed on 
the door sills of the deserted houses, and 
welcome joyously the first rays of sunlight. 
They are the inhabitants who have succeeded 
the former citizens, and one might think Pom- 
peii had been exhumed for them alone. 

It is a strange spectack in the azure and 
rosy light of the morning, this corpse of a city 
surprised in the midst of its pleasures, its works. 


152 


THE EVIL EYE. 


and civilization, and which has not undergone 
the slow dissolution of ordinary ruins. We in- 
voluntarily expect to see the inhabitants of these 
houses preserved in their least details, come out 
of their dwellings in their Greek or Roman dress; 
the chariots, whose tracks we see on the pave- 
ment, resume their rolling; the wine-drinkers 
enter the wine-houses, where the marks of the 
cups are still visible on the marble of the 
counters. We walk as if in a dream in the 
midst of the past; we read in red letters at 
street corners the announcement of the at- 
traction of the day! — only the day is passed, 
more than eighteen centuries ago. 

In the dawning light of the day the dan- 
seuses painted on the walls seem to wave their 
,arms, and with the tips of their white feet raise, 
like a rosy foam, the edge of their draperies, 
believing no doubt that the lamps are being 
lighted for the orgies of the trictinium. The 
Venuses, the satyrs, the heroic or the gro- 
tesque figures, animated by the rising sun, try to 
replace the vanished inhabitants and give to the 
dead city a painted population. The colored 
shadows tremble on the walls, and the mind 


THE EVIL EYE. 1 53 

can for a few moments lend itself to the illusion 
of an ancient phantasmagoria. But on this day, 
to the great alarm of the lizards, the matutinal 
serenity of Pompeii was disturbed by a strange 
visitor, a carriage stopped, Paul alighted and 
directed his steps toward the place of rendez- 
vous. 

He was first, and although his mind was pre- 
occupied by many things beside archeology, 
he could not help remarking as he walked on 
a thousand little details which he would not 
perhaps have noticed under ordinary circum- 
stances. The senses, when not under the con- 
trol of the soul, and free to exercise themselves 
independently, have sometimes a singular lucid- 
ity. Condemned persons, on their way to exe- 
cution, distinguish a small flower between the 
chinks of the pavement, a number on the button 
of a uniform, a fault of orthography on a sign- 
board, or many other trivial cicumstances, 
which in their eyes possesses enormous im- 
portance. 

M. d’Aspremont passed before the villa of 
Diomedes, the sepulchre of Mammia, the fu- 
nereal hemicycles, the ancient gate of the city, 
10 


154 


THE EVIL EYE. 


the dwellings and shops that line the Con- 
sular road, almost without glancing at them, 
and yet the colored and striking images were 
imprinted on his mind with perfect clearness. 
He saw everything; the fluted columns covered 
to half their height with red or yellow stucco, 
the frescoed paintings, and the inscriptions 
traced on the walls; an announcement in 
red letters was so deeply engraved on his 
memory that his lips mechanically repeated 
the Latin words without attaching any sense to 
them. 

Was it the thought of the coming combat 
that absorbed Paul to this point? Not at all. 
His thoughts were far away from those sur- 
roundings. He was again in the drawing room 
at Richmond, presenting his letter of introduc- 
tion to the Commodore, and Alicia was look- 
'ing at him while pretending not to do so. She 
wore a white dress, and jasmine flowers in her 
hair. How young, beautiful, and full of life she 
was — then! 

The ancient baths are at the end of the Con- 
sular Avenue, and Paul d’Aspremont found 
them without trouble. He entered the vaulted 


THE EVIL EYE. 


155 


room encircled by a row of terra-cotta niches, 
supporting an architrave adorned with 
figures and foliage. The facings of marble, 
the mosaics, the bronze tripods, have disap- 
peared. Nothing is left of the ancient splendor 
but the argil frames and the walls which are as 
bare as those of a tomb. A faint ray of light filter- 
ing through a small, round window, through 
which was revealed a patch of blue sky, trem- 
bled on the broken flags of the pavement. 

This is where the women of Pompeii came 
after their baths to dry their beautiful bodies, 
brush their luxuriant hair, resume their drap- 
eries, and smile at themselves in the burnished 
brass of the mirrors. A far different scene was 
about to take place there, and blood would 
flow on the pavement where perfumes had 
streamed in days of yore. 

A few moments later Count Altavilla ap- 
peared; he held a box of pistols in his hand, 
and carried two swords under his arm, for he 
could not believe that the conditions proposed 
by Paul d’Aspremont were serious. Rethought 
it but a Mephistophelic raillery, a diabolical 


sarcasm. 


156 


THE EVIL EYE. 


“Why have you brought those swords and 
pistols, Count?” said Paul as he saw this 
panoply. “Did we not agree on another 
mode of combat?” 

“Yes, it is true; but I thought you might 
change your mind. I have never heard of 
such a mode of combat,” replied Altavilla. 

“Were our skill equal, my position would 
give me too much advantage over you,” said 
Paul with a bitter smile, “ and I will not abuse 
it. Here are the stiletos I have brought, 
examine them, they are perfectly alike. And 
here are the handkerchiefs to bandage our eyes. 
See, they are thick, and my glance cannot 
pierce the tissues.” 

Count Altavilla made a sign of acquiescence. 

“We have no witnesses ” resumed Paul, “and 
one of us will not go out of this cave alive. 
Let us each write a note testifying to the fair- 
ness of the combat; the conqueror will place it 
on the breast of the dead.” 

“ An excellent precaution!” replied the Nea- 
poltan, as he traced a few lines on a leaf of Paul’s 
note-book. Then presenting it to his adversary 
the latter went through the same formality. 


THE EVIL EYE. 


157 


They then divested themselves of their 
coats, bandaged their eyes, armed themselves 
with their stilettos and took each one extrem- 
ity of the handkerchief — a terrible link between 
their hatred. 

“ Are you ready?” asked Paul d’Aspremont 
of Count Altavilla. 

“ Yes,” replied the Neapolitan in a perfectly 
calm tone. 

Don Felipe Altavilla was of tried bravery; he 
feared nothing in this world but the jettatura, 
and this blind-folded combat, which would have 
made anyone else tremble with terror, did not 
trouble him in the least. He was merely play- 
ing his life on even terms and would not be in- 
convenienced by seeing the evil eye of his ad- 
versary casting its yellow rays on him. 

The duelists brandished their knives, and the 
handkerchief that united them in this thick 
darkness was strained to its utmost. By an 
instinctive movement Paul and the Count had 
thrown themselves back — the only parade pos- 
sible in this strange duel — and their arms fell 
without touching anything but vacancy. 

This obscure struggle, in which each felt 


158 


THE EVIL EYE. 


death near without seeing it come, possessed 
something horrible. Cautious and silent, the 
two adversaries recoiled, turned, jumped, stum- 
bled, missed or went beyond their aim; nothing 
was heard but the shuffling of their feet and 
their panting breath. 

Once Altavilla felt the point of his stiletto 
come in contact with something. He stopped, 
thinking he had killed his rival, and awaited 
the fall of the body — but he had only struck 
the wall! 

“By the gods! I thought I had pierced you 
through and through,” he said, putting himself 
on guard once more. 

“Do not speak,” said Paul, “your voice guides 
me.” 

And they resumed their combat. 

Suddenly the two adversaries fell themselves 
separated. A stroke of Paul’s stiletto had cut 
the handkerchief in two. 

“A truce!” cried the Neapolitan, “we are 
separated, the handkerchief is cut.” 

“Never mind! let us keep on,” replied Paul. 

A mournful silence followed. As loyal ene- 
mies, neither Paul d’Aspremont nor the Count 


THE EVIL EYE. 


159 


would take advantage of the indications given 
by their exchange of words. They took a few 
steps back and again sought each other in the 
darkness. 

Paul dislodged a pebble with his foot; this 
slight noise revealed to the Neapolitan the 
direction he should go. With the bound of a 
tiger he dashed toward his adversary and met 
Paul’s stiletto. 

Paul d’Aspremont felt the point of his weapon 
and found that it was wet — uncertain, falter- 
ing steps resounded on the stones, an oppressed 
sigh was heard, and a body rolled heavily to 
the ground. 

P'illed with horror, Paul tore the bandage 
from his eyes and saw Count Altavilla, pale, 
motionless, stretched on his back, and a deep 
red stain on his shirt in the region of the heart. 

The handsome Neapolitan was dead! 

Paul d’Aspremont placed the note testifying 
to the fairness of the duel on Altavilla’s breast, 
and emerged from this bath of antiquity paler 
in the daylight than the criminal Prud’hon 
caused to be pursued by the avenging Erinnys 
in the moonlight. 


i6o 


THE EVIL EYE, 


CHAPTFR XIV. 


BOUT two clock in the afterno^'/'f (}\ the 



t \ same day, a party of English to’^rists, un- 
der the guidance of a cicerone, were visiting 
the ruins of Pompeii; the insular tribe, com- 
posed of the father, mother, three grown 
daughters, two small boys and a cousin, had 
already wandered through the amphitheatre, 
the theater of song and tragedy, in such curi- 
ous juxtapositions; the military quarter, plac- 
arded with caricatures by the idle guards; the 
Forum, surprised in the midst of repairs; the 
Basilique, the temples of Venus and Jupiter, 
the Pantheon, and the shops that surround 
them, glancing at everything with that cold 
and stolid eye in which could be read that pro- 
found ennui which characterizes the British 
race They walked on in silence, following 
the explanations of their loquacious guide, and 
scarcely casting a glance on the columns, frag- 
ments of statues, mosaics, frescoes and inscrip- 


tions, 


They finally reached the ancient baths, dis- 
covered in 1824, as their guide remarked: 


THE EVIL EYE. 


l6l 


“Here were the tubs, there the water heater, 
further on the hall with a moderate tempera- 
ture,” explained he, in the Neapolitan patois, 
intermixed with a few English terminations. 
But all these details seemed to interest the vis- 
itors but little, and they were already turning 
face-about to withdraw when Miss Ethelwina, 
the eldest of the young ladies, a young person 
with flaxen hair and freckled cheeks, started 
back, half shocked, half frightened, and cried: 
“A Man!” 

“It is no doubt some workman who found 
this to be a good spot for a nap; it is always 
cool and shady under this vault. Don’t be 
frightened Miss,” said the guide, pushing the 
body stretched on the ground with his foot. 
“Here! wake up, you good-for-nothing, and let 
their ladyships go by.” 

The supposed sleeper did not stir. 

“It is not a sleeping man, but a corpse,” 
cried one of the small boys, who, owing to his 
stature, could better distinguish the appear- 
ance of the figure in the semi-obscurity. 

The cicerone bent over the body, and started 
back in alarm. 


THE EVIL EYE. 


162 

“A murdered man!” he cried. 

“Oh! how dreadful to find one’s self in the 
presence of such objects,” exclaimed Mrs. 
Bracebridge; “Ethelwina, Kittie, Bess, leave 
this place at once! It is highly improper for 
well-bred young persons to look at such a 
shocking sight. Are there no police in this 
country? The coroner should have had the 
body removed.” “A paper!” exclaimed the 
cousin laconically. He was a tall, stiff and 
awkward young man, who reminded one of the 
Laird of Dumbidikes in the “ Heart of Mid- 
lothian.” 

“True enough,” said the guide, as he picked 
up the note on Altavilla’s breast, “a paper with 
a few lines of writing on it.” 

“Read it!” they all cried in chorus, their 
curiosity having reached the highest pitch. 

And the guide obediently read the following: 

“Let no search be made, nor any one be 
troubled on account of my death. If this note 
is found on my wound, I will have succumbed 
in a fair duel.” 

“Signed Felipe, Count d’Altavilla.” 

“He was a gentleman; what a pity,” sighed 


THE EVIL EYE. 163 

Mrs. Bracebridge, impressed by the rank of the 
dead count. 

“And what a handsome young man,” mur- 
mured the freckled Ethelwina. 

“You can no longer complain of the want of 
incidents in our travels,” said Bess to Kitty. 
“We were not stopped by brigands on the road 
from Terracine to Fondi, it is true; but to find 
a young lord, killed by a dagger in the ruins of 
Pompeii, is indeed an adventure. There must 
have been a love affair at the bottom of it. We 
shall now, at least, have something Italian, 
something picturesque and romantic to relate 
to our friends on our return. I shall make a 
sketch of the scene in my album, and you will 
write a few mysterious stanzas beneath it, in the 
style of Byron.” 

“It was a well-directed thrust,” said the 
guide; “it was given upward, according to the 
rules, so there is nothing to say.” 

Such was the funeral orison over Count Alta- 
villa. 

A workman, informed by the guide, went in 
search of the proper authorities, and the body 


11 


THE EVIL EYE. 


164 

of the unfortunate Count was carried to his 
castle near Salerno. 

As to Paul d’Aspremont, he had regained 
his carriage, walking like a somnambulist, with 
his eyes wide open, but seeing nothing. He 
seemed like a statue, although at sight of the 
corpse he had felt that religious horror in- 
spired by death, he did not feel guilty, and 
remorse did not make part of his despair. 
Challenged in a way he could not refuse, he 
had accepted with the hope of losing a life 
which had become odious to him. Endowed 
with a calamitous glance, he had insisted on 
fighting this duel blind-folded, that fatality 
alone might be responsible for the result. His 
hand had not even struck the fatal blow; his 
enemy had dashed on his stiletto and impaled 
himself! He pitied Count Altavilla as if he 
had been a stranger to his death. 

“ My stiletto killed him,” he said to himself, 
but if I had glanced at him in a ball-room, a 
chandelier would have fallen from the ceiling 
and crushed his head. I am as innocent 
as the thunderbolt, the avalanche, the 
billows, and all those unconscious and des- 


THE EVIL EYE. 


165 


tructive forces. I have never injured any- 
one willingly; my heart is full of love and 
benevolence. The thunderbolt knows not 
that it kills; but I, a man, an intelligent creat- 
ure, have I not a severe duty to fulfill toward 
myself? I should arraign and interrogate my- 
self before my own tribunal. Can I remain in 
this world where I cause nothing but cal- 
amaties? Would heaven curse me if I killed 
myself through love for my neighbors? It is a 
deep and terrible question which I dare not 
answer. Yet it seems to me that in my posi- 
tion voluntary death is excusable. But if I 
were mistaken? I should be deprived of the 
sight of Alicia during eternity, when I could 
look at her without harming her, for the eyes 
of the soul have no fascino. It is a risk I will 
not run.” 

A sudden thought flashed through the brain 
of the unfortunate jettatore and interrupted 
his interior monologue. His features relaxed; 
the immutable serenity which always follows 
great resolutions smoothed his pale brow: he 
had taken a supreme determination. 

“ Ah, unfortunate eyes, you are condemned 


i66 


THE EVIL ^YE. 


since you are murderers/’ he said half aloud; 
“ but, before closing forever, saturate yourself 
with light, contemplate the sun, the blue sky, 
the immense sea, the azure chains of mountains, 
the green trees, the infinite horizon, the col- 
onnades of palaces, the fisherman’s hut, the 
distant islands of the gulf, the white sails 
skimming the waters, Vesuvius with its crest of 
smoke:, look well, that you may remember all 
the charming spectacles you shall never again 
see, study each form and each color, give your- 
self a last feast. For to-day, woeful or not, 
you may rest on everything; intoxicate your- 
self with the magnificent spectacle of nature! 
Go, see, wander over all things. The curtain 
will fall between you and the scenes of the 
universe!” 

The carriage at this moment was rolling 
along the shore. The bay sparkled in the sun, 
the sky seemed cut from one sapphire, and a 
splendor of beauty enshrouded everything. 

Paul ordered Scazziga to stop the carriage. 
He alighted, seated himself on a stone, and 
took a long, long glance before him, as if he 
would possess himself of the infinite. His eyes 


THE EVIL EYE. 


167 


swam into space and light, rolling as if in ecsta- 
cy, impregnating light and imbibing sun! The 
night that was to follow would have no dawn 
for him. 

Tearing himself from this silent contempla- 
tion, Paul d’ Aspremont returned to the car- 
riage and ordered Scazziga to drive to Miss 
Ward’s villa. 

Alicia was reclining, as on the former day, 
on the narrow sofa in the low room already 
described. Paul took a seat opposite her, but 
did not keep his eyes to the ground as he had 
always done since he had become conscious of 
his evil power. 

Alicia’s perfect beauty was spiritualized by 
her sufferings; the woman had almost disap- 
peared to make place to the angel. Her skin 
seemed transparent, etherialized, luminous; her 
soul could be seen through it as a light in an 
alabaster lamp. Her eyes had the infinite of 
heaven and the scintillation of the star; life 
scarcely imprinted its red signature on the 
ruby lips. 

A divine smile illuminated them, as a sun- 
beam brightens a rose, when she saw her fiancee 


THE EVIL EYE 


1 68 

enveloping her in a long caressing gaze. She 
believed that Paul had at last driven away his 
gloomy thoughts of jettatura and was return- 
ing to her happy and confident as in the first 
days of their love, and she extended her smal 
delicate hand, which he grasped and retained 
in his own. 

“ Don’t I frighten you any longer?” she said 
banteringly to Paul, whose eyes were still fixed 
on her. 

“Oh! let me look at you,” he replied 
in a strange voice, as he knelt beside her; 
“let me intoxicate myself with your ineffable 
beauty!” 

And he contemplated with avidity Alicia’s 
lustrous black hair; the beautiful brow, pure as 
a Greek marble; the eyes of blue black, like 
the azure of a beautiful night; the delicately 
chiseled nose; the mouth on which hovered a 
languid smile, half displaying the pearly teeth; 
the flexible and undulating swan-like throat, 
and seemed to note and impress on his mind 
each feature, each detail, each perfection, like 
an artist who wishes to make a portrait from 
memory, He was satiating himself with the 


THE EVIL EYE. 


169 


adored features; he was storing away a provis- 
ion of souvenirs, seizing every line and curve. 

Under this ardent gaze, Alicia, fascinated and, 
charmed, experienced a sensation that was at 
once voluptuously painful and agreeably mor- 
tal. Her life ebbed and flowed, she flushed 
and paled, became cold, then burning. A 
moment more, and her soul would have taken 
flight. 

She placed her hand over his eyes, but the 
young man’s gaze penetrated her frail trans- 
parent finger like a flame. 

“My sight may now be extinguished, I shall 
always see her in my heart,” Paul said as he 
arose. 

That night, after he had watched the sunset 
— the last he should ever see — Paul returned 
to the Hotel de Rome and called for a chafing- 
dish and some coal. 

“Is he going to asphyxiate himself?” thought 
Virgilio Falsacappa when Paddy transmitted 
his master’s order; “it is the best thing he can 
do, the accursed jettatore!” 

Alicia’s fiancee opened the window, contrary 

to Falsacappa’s conjectures, lighted the coal, 

u 


170 THE EVIL EYE. 

plunged the blade of a dagger into the flames 
and waited until the steel became red hot. 

The thin blade was soon at a white heat in 
the midst of the incandescent coals. Paul, 
as if to take leave of himself, leaned his elbows 
on the chimney-piece opposite a large mirror 
in which was reflected the light from a many 
branched candlestick, and he looked at this 
sort of spectre which was himself, the envelop 
of his thought which he would never again see, 
with melancholy curiosity. 

“Farewell, pale phantom that I have dragged 
through life for so many years, sinister and mis- 
shapen form in which beauty is mingled with 
the horrible, argil marked on the brow with a 
fatal seal, convulsed mask of a good and tender 
soul! you shall disappear forever to me! Living, 
I plung you in eternal darkness and soon I 
shall have forgotten you like the dream of a 
tempestuous night. Miserable body! you will 
cry out in vain to my inflexible will: ‘Hubert! 
Hubert my poor eyes!’ you will not soften it. 
Come, proceed, victim and executioner!” And 
he walked away from the chimney and sat on 
the edge of his bed, 


THE EVIL EYE. 


I7I 

He enlivened the coals by blowing on them, 
and grasped the handle of the dagger from 
which flew white sparks. 

At this supreme moment, notwithstanding 
his firm resolution, Paul almost faltered; a cold 
sweat bathed his temples, but he soon con- 
quered this purely physical hesitation and ap- 
proached the burning steel to his eyes. 

A sharp, shooting, intolerable pain almost 
brought a cry to his lips. It seemed as if two 
jets of molten lead were penetrating through the 
pupils to the back of his skull; he dropped the 
dagger and it rolled to the floor where it burnt 
out a brown mark. 

A thick opaque darkness, in comparison of 
which the darkest night would be a magnificent 
day, enveloped him in its black veil. He 
turned his head toward the chimney on which, 
he knew, the candles must be burning, but he 
saw only dense impenetrable shadows in which 
did not even tremble the vague lights that a 
person sees through his closed eyelids when 
facing a light. 

The sacrifice was consummated. 

“ Now, noble and charming creature, I may 


72 


THE EVIL EYE. 


become your husband whithout being an 
assassin,” he murmured. “You will no longer 
perish heroically under my fatal gaze; you 
will regain your precious health. Alas! I shall 
never again see you, but your celestial image 
will burn with immortal brightness in my 
memory. I shall see you with the eyes of my 
soul; I shall hear your voice, more harmonious 
than the sweetest music; I shall feel the air dis- 
placed by your movements; I shall hear the 
soft rustling of your dress, the imperceptible 
creaking of your slippers; I shall breathe the 
delicate perfume that emanates from you and 
creates an atmosphere around you. Some- 
times, you will place your hand within my own 
to convince me of your presence, you will guide 
my hesitating footsteps on their obscure path, 
you will read me the poets, and describe the 
paintings and statues. By your words, you will 
bring back the vanished universe; you shall be 
my only thought, my only dream; deprived of 
-the sights of nature and the splendors of light, 
my soul will fly to you with an indefatigable 
wing!” 

“ I regret nothing since you are saved; what 


THE EVIL EYE. 


173 


have I lost, after all? The monotonous spect- 
acle of seasons, of days, the sight of more or 
less picturesque scenery on which is unfolded 
the hundred divers act of the sad human 
comedy. The earth, the sky, the waters, the 
mountains, the trees, the flowers, vain appear- 
ance, fastidious repetitions, unchangeable 
forms! When we have love, we possess the 
true sun, the light that never goes out!” 

The unhappy young man went on in this 
strain talking to himself, enfevered by a lyric 
exaltation in which sometimes mingled the 
delirium of suffering. 

Little by little the pain lessened, and he fell 
into that black sleep, brother of death and 
consoler like her. 

Daylight, in penetrating into his chamber, 
did not awaken him. Noon and midnight 
would henceforth be the same to him; but the 
bells joyously ringing the Angelus tinkled 
vaguely through his slumber, and, little by little 
becoming more distinct, drew him from his 
'Oblivion. 

He raised his eyelids, and, even before his 
Still numbed SQul rec^led anything, he ex- 


174 


THE EVIL EYE. 


perienced a horrible sensation. His eyes were 
opening on vacancy, on obscurity, on nothing, 
as if, buried alive, he were awakening from a 
trance in a coffin. But he soon realized his 
position. Would it not be always thus? Would 
he not pass, each morning, from the obscurity 
of sleep to the obscurity of day? 

He groped around for the bell-rope, and 
Paddy answered the summons at once. 

“ I was imprudent enough to sleep with my 
window open,” Paul hastened to say, to cut 
short Paddy’s exclamations of surprise at his 
uncertain steps, “ and I believe I have caught 
rheumatism, but it is nothing serious. Guide 
me to my easy chair and give me a glass of 
fresh water. 

Paddy, who had the discretion of an English- 
man, made no remark, but executed his 
master’s orders and withdrew. 

Once alone, Paul dipped his handkerchief in 
the cool water and placed it over his eyes to 
soothe the burning pain. 

But let us leave M. d’Aspremont in his pain- 
ful immobility and return to the other person- 
ages of the story. 


THE EVIL EYE. 


175 


The news of Count Altavilla’s strange death 
had spread rapidly through Naples and served 
as a theme for a thousand conjectures, each 
more extraordinary than the other. His ability 
in fencing was well known, and he had acquired 
a celebrity as one of the best shots of that 
Neapolitan school so (Treaded on the field. 
He had killed three men and seriously wounded 
five or six. His renown in affairs of this 
kind was so well established that he was never 
called upon to fight. The greatest duelists of 
the day bowed politely before him, and avoided 
treading on his feet. Had one of those killed 
Altavilla, he would not have failed to claim the 
honor of his victory. 

There remained the supposition of an assas- 
sination, but the note found on the dead man’s 
breast proved this conjecture wrong also. At 
first a few were disposed to contest the authen- 
ticity of the writing, but the Count’s handwrit- 
ing was identified by persons who had received 
hundreds of letters from him. Then the band- 
age over his eyes, for the corpse had been 
found with the handkerchief still knotted about 
his head, seemed also inexplicable. 


THE EVIL EYE. 


176 

Besides the stiletto in the count’s breast, a 
second one was found which had no doubt 
fallen from his dying hand. If the duel had 
been fought with daggers, why those swords 
and pistols which were identified as belonging 
to Altavilla? For the coachman affirmed he 
had brought them to Pompeii together with his 
master, who had ordered him to return home if 
he did not reappear within an hour. 

Indeed no one could understand it. 

The noise of this death soon reached Vice, 
who lost no time in informing Sir Joshua Ward. 
The Commodore, who at once recalled the 
mysterious conversation he had held with Alta- 
villa concerning Alicia, understood confusedly 
that some secret attack, some desperate and 
horrible struggle had taken place, in which 
Paul d’Aspremont was voluntarily or involun- 
tarily mixed. Vice, however, did not hesitate 
in attributing the handsome Count’s death to 
that horrible jettatore, and in this instance her 
hatred served her in lieu of second sight. 

Paul d’Aspremont had nevertheless called on 
Miss Ward at the accustomed hour, and noth- 
ing in his countenance had betrayed the emo- 


THE EVIL EYE. I77 

tion of a terrible drama. He had even ap- 
peared more calm than usual. 

This death was concealed from Alicia, whose 
state of health was becoming alarming, 
although the English physician summoned by 
Sir Joshua could find no well defined symp- 
toms of disease. It was like a fading away 
from life, a fluttering of the soul agitating its 
wings to take flight, the suffocation of a bird 
under the pneumatic machine, rather than a 
real illness, that might be treated by ordinary 
means. She seemed like an angel retained on 
earth, but longing for heaven. 

Alicia’s beauty was so sweet, so delicate, so 
diaphanous, so immaterial, that the gross 
human atmosphere seemed no longer fit for her 
to breathe. She seemed to hover in the golden 
light of Paradise, and the small lace pillow that 
supported her head sparkled like an aureole. 
She resembled that delicate virgin of Shoorel, 
the finest jewel in the crown of Gothic art. 

Paul d’Aspremont did not come that day. 
Wishing to keep his sacrifice a secret, he would 
not appear with his inflamed and reddened 
eyelids; he was determined to attribute his 


178 


THE EVIL EYE. 


sudden blindness to an entirely different cause. 

The next day, the pain having left him, he 
entered his carriage, guided by the faithful 
Paddy. 

The carriage stopped as usual at the wicket 
gate. Paul pushed it open, and, sounding the 
ground with his foot, started in the w'ell-known 
path. Vice had not hurried out as usual at the 
noise of the bell set in motion by the spring of 
the gate; none of those thousand joyous sound- 
that seem like the breathing of a living house 
reached Paul’s listening ears; a frightful, 
mournful silence reigned in the habitation 
which might have been thought abandoned. 
This silence, which would have been sinister 
even to a man possessing his sight, became 
still more lugubrious in the obscurity that en- 
veloped the sightless man. 

The invisible branches seemed to make an 
effort to retain him like beseeching arms, and 
prevent him from going further. The laurels 
barred his passage; the rose bushes clung to 
his clothes; the ivy twisted around his feet; 
the whole garden, in its dumb language, cried 
out: “Unfortunate young man! why are you 


THE EVIL EYE. 1 79 

here? Do not force the obstacles I oppose to 
you. Go!” 

But Paulheeded not, andtormented by terrible 
presentiments pushed through the thick foliage 
and masses of verdure, breaking the branches 
and advancing always toward the house. 

Bruised and torn by the irritated branches, 
he at last reached the end of the path. A 
blast of fresh air struck his face, and he con- 
tinued on, his hand extended before him. 

He soon reached the wall of the house and 
groped his way to the door. 

He entered. No friendly voice welcomed 
him. Hearing no sound to guide him, he stood 
hesitating a few minutes on the threshold. A 
smell of ether, an exhalation of perfume, an odor 
of burning wax, all the vague aromas of mortu- 
ary chambers arose to his nostrils. He trembled 
with terror. A frightful thought flashed through 
his mind, and he penetrated into the room. 

After a few staggering steps, he came in con- 
tact with something that fell with a loud crash. 
He bent down and, picking it up, found that it 
was a brass chandelier such as is used in 

churches, and bearing a taper. 

12 


THE EVIL EYE. 


i8o 

Wild with terror, he groped on in the obscur- 
ity. He thought he heard a low voice mur- 
muring some prayers, and, taking another step 
in that direction, his hands met the edge of a 
bed. He bent down and his trembling fingers 
ran over first a stiff, motionless body, under a 
fine tunic, then a wreath of roses, and a face 
pure and cold as marble. 

It was Alicia lying on her funeral couch. 

“Dead!” cried Paul with a choked sob. 
“Dead! and it is I who have killed her!” 

The Commodore, frozen with horror, had 
seen this specter with sightless eyes enter stag- 
gering, wander at hazard and grope his way to 
the dead body of his niece, and had understood 
all. The greatness of the useless sacrifice 
brought tears to the reddened eyes of the old 
man who believed he could weep no more. 

Paul threw himself on his knees by the bed- 
side and covered Alicia’s hands with kisses; 
convulsive sobs shook his frame. His grief 
touched even the ferocious Vice, who stood 
silent and gloomy against the. wall, watching 
the last sleep of her beloved mistress. 

When this silent adieu was over, Paul arose 





“it was ALICIA LYING ON HER FUNERAL COUCH 



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THE EVIL EYE. 


I8l 


and walked mechanically toward the door, like 
an automaton moved by springs. His wide 
open eyes, with their sightless pupils, had a 
supernatural expression; although blind one 
would have believed he could see. He crossed 
the garden with a heavy step as if he were a 
marble apparition, and went out in the open 
country walking straight before him, stumbling 
over stones, straining his ears as if to catch a 
distant sound, but advancing always. 

The grand voice of the sea resounded more 
and more distinct; the waves, raised by a 
stormy wind, broke against the shore with im- 
mense sobs, expression of unknown griefs, and 
their despairing breasts heaved beneath the 
crests of foam; millions of bitter tears inun- 
dated the rocks, and the alarmed sea gulls 
uttered plaintive cries. 

Paul soon reached the edge of an overhang- 
ing rock. The noise of the billows, the salty 
spray that the wind tore from the waves and 
dashed in his face, should have warned him of 
his danger; but he took no heed. A strange 
smile contracted his pale lips, and he continued 


i 82 


THE EVIL EYE. 


his fatal walk, although he felt the void under 
his foot. 

He fell; a monstrous wave seized him, 
whirled him for a few instants in its vortex and 
engulfed him. 

Then the tempest burst in all its fury. The 
waves attacked the shore in close file, like war- 
riors making an assault, and dashed the foam 
fifty feet in the air. The dark clouds opened 
like walls of hell, revealing, through the fissures, 
the fiery furnace of lightning. Blinding, sul- 
phurous lights illuminated the vast expanse; 
the summit of Vesuvius reddened, and a tuft of 
dark vapors, beaten down by the wind, crowned 
the brow of the volcano. The ships moored to 
the quays dashed against each other with lugu- 
brious sounds, and the overstrained riggings 
moaned painfully. Soon the rain fell, its drops 
hissing like arrows — it seemed as if chaos 
wished to retake nature and confound its ele- 
ments once more. 

Paul’s body was never found, notwithstand- 
ing the researches made by the Commodore. 

An ebony casket, with silver plate and han- 
dles, and lined in satin, such, in fact, as Miss 


THE EVIL EYE. 


183 


Clarissa Harlowe ordered .with such touching 
grace, from the undertaker, was placed aboard 
a yacht, under the supervision of the Commo- 
dore, and conveyed to the family vault near 
the Lincolnshire cottage. It contained the 
body of Alicia Ward, beautiful even in death. 

As to the Commodore, a remarkable change 
has taken place in his appearance. His glori- 
ous embonpoint has disappeared. He no 
longer takes rum in his tea, his appetite has 
deserted him, and he scarcely utters two words 
in the day. The contrast between his white 
whiskers and crimson face exists no longer— 
the Commodore has become pale. 

[end.] 


THE SCHWARENBACH INN. 


BY GUY DE MAUPASSANT. 

Ear up on the Alps, at the foot of immense 
glaciers and in one of those rugged, barren de- 
files that cut through the white summits of the 
mountains, stands the Schwarenbach Inn, 
which serves as a refuge to travelers who 
follow the pass of the Gemmi. 

During six months of the year it is inhab- 
ited by the family of Jean Hauser, and opened 
to wayfarers; but when the snows accumulate, 
filling the valley and rendering the descent to* 
Loeche impracticable, the father and three 
sons, accompanied by the women of the house- 
hold, abandon the inn, leaving it in charge of 
two trustvvorthy men and a faithful mountain 
dog. 

The two men and the animal remain until 
spring in this snowy prison, having before 


THE SCHWARENBACH INN. 185 

their eyes nothing but the immense white de- 
clivity of the Balmhorn; surrounded by pale 
glistening summits, imprisoned, enshrouded 
beneath the snow that ever ascends around 
them, hemming them in on all sides, crushing 
the low house, piling its flakes on the roof, 
shutting out the light from the windows and 
walling in the door. 

The day of the return to Loeche had now 
come for the Hauser family. Winter was ap- 
proaching and the descent becoming peril- 
ous. 

Three mules, loaded with clothes and bag- 
gage and led by the three sons, went on ahead. 
Then the mother and her daughter, Louise, 
mounted a fourth mule and followed in 
their turn; while the father accompanied by 
the two guardians who were escorting the 
family to the summit of the descent, brought 
up the rear of the little cavalcade. 

They slowly skirted the little lake that 
spread before the inn and which was already 
frozen to its greatest depth, then wended their 
way down the narrow valley dominated on all 

sides by snowy summits. 

12 


THE SCHWARENBACH INN. 


1 86 


A flood of dazzling sunshine inundated 
this glistening, frozen desert, lighting it up 
with a cold blinding flame. No sign of life 
was visible in this ocean of mountains; no 
movement in this immeasurable solitude; no 
sound that disturbed the profound silence. 

They had proceeded but a short distance 
when the younger of the guides, Ulrich Kunsi, 
sensibly hastened his pace, and leaving the two 
old men behind, rapidly approached the mule 
that bore the women. 

Louise Hauser turned at the sound of his 
footsteps and greeted him with a melancholy 
smile. She was a slight blonde peasant girl, 
whose milky cheeks and colorless hair seemed 
to have been paled by her long sojourn among 
the glaciers; but as the young man reached 
her side and slackened his pace to address her 
a few cheerful words, a light flush came into 
her cheeks, and her eyes brightened visibly. 

They had barely time to exchange a few 
phrases, however; for mother Hauser immedi- 
ately began to enumerate with endless details 
all her recommendations for the season. It 
was to be Ulrich’s first winter on the rnoun- 


THE SCHWARENBACH INN. 1 87 

tain; but he felt no apprehensions, for had not 
his companion, old Gaspard Hari, already 
spent fourteen winters under the snows in the 
Schwarenbach Inn, 

The young man listened in silence to the 
mother’s advice, while his eyes remained in- 
tently fixed on the daughter’s sad face. Now 
and then he replied in monosyllables, but his 
thoughts seemed faraway and his calm features 
remained impassible. 

They had now come to Daube lake, whose 
long frozen surface spread out in the bottom 
of the valley. To the right, the black perpen- 
dicular rocks of the Daubenhorn arose beside 
the enormous glacier of Loemmern, above 
which towers the Wildstrubel; and as they ap- 
proached the defile of the Gemmi, where the 
descent to Loeche begins, their eyes suddenly 
rested on the vast horizon beyond the valley of 
the Rhone that stretched far and wide beneath 
their feet. 

A multitude of white, uneven pinnacles 
glistened under the sun in the distance; the 
Mischabel with its two horns; the majestic 
Wissehorn; the massive Brunnegghorn; the re- 


88 


THE SCHWARENBACH INN. 


doubtable pyramid of Cervin, that man-killer; 
and the White-Tooth, that monstrous coquette. 
Then beneath them, at the bottom of a fright- 
ful abyss, they perceived Loeche, its houses 
seeming like grains of sand scattered in the 
enormous crevice opening on the Rhone and 
closed up by the Gemmi. 

The mule stopped at the edge of the fantastic 
winding path leading down the mountain side 
to the almost invisible village at its foot, and 
the two women alighted to await the coming 
of old Hauser and Gaspard. 

“Well, my good friends, we must now part,” 
said the old inn-keeper, shaking hands warmly 
with the two guides. “Farewell, and be of 
good cheer until we meet again next year.” 

“Farewell,” repeated Gaspard as he em- 
braced his friend. 

Then Mme. Hauser offered her cheeks in her 
turn, and the young girl followed her example. 

“Do not forget the friends you leave behind,” 
whispered Ulrich to Louise as he bent over her 
to give her a parting kiss. 

“I shall not forget,” she replied so softly 
that he guessed rather than heard the words. 


THE SCHWARENBACH INN. 189 

“Farewell, and good heaUh to you, “repeated 
Jean Hauser, as he led the way down the 
mountain path, where they soon disappeared 
at a turn of the road. 

The two men watched them unt 1 they had 
vanished, then slowly wended their way back 
to the Schwarenbach Inn. 

It was now all over; they would remain alone 
without a glimpse of a familiar face for four or 
five months. They walked on in silence side 
by side for some time, then old Gaspard began 
to relate the incidents of his life in this desert 
during the preceding winter. His companion 
had been Michel Canol, who was now too old 
for such an occupation, for an accident might 
happen during those long days of solitude and 
they must depend on their own strength and 
resources. He had never found it lonely, how- 
ever; for many distractions and pastimes could 
be found after all. One had but to resign him- 
self to his fate from the first, and all went well. 

Ulrich Kunsi listened with down-cast eyes, 
his thoughts still following the little party 
descending the winding path of the Gemmi. 
They soon came in s'ght of the inn, appear- 


igo THE SCHVVARENBACH INN. 

ing like a mere black speck at the foot of the 
monstrous mountain of snow. As they opened 
the door, Sam, the big mountain dog, leaped 
joyously to their side, barking furiously with 
delight at their return. 

“Come, my son,”. said old Gaspard to his 
companion; “ we have no women to prepare 
our meal and must think of dinner. You 
shall pare the potatoes, while I see to the soup.” 

The morning of the following day seemed 
very long to Ulrich as he gazed sadly through 
the window at the glistening mountain in front 
of the house, while old Gaspard smoked 
quietly at the fireside. In the afternoon the 
young man went out and retraced the journey 
of the previous day, seeking to find the track 
left by the mule who had borne the two 
women. When he reached the defile of the 
Gemmi, he stretched himself on the edge of 
the abyss and gazed down at Loeche lying in 
its rocky well, the low houses resembling cob- 
ble stones, scattered over a prairie, from that 
dizzy height. 

Louise Hauser was there in one of those 
gray inhabitations. But in which? Ulrich was 


THE SCHWARENBACH INN. I9I 

too far away to distinguish them separately. 
How he longed to go down while it was yet 
possible! 

But the sun had already vanished behind the 
tall dome of the Wildstrubel, and it was time 
to return. When he re-entered the house, 
Gaspard laid his pipe aside and proposed a 
game of cards. Thus they spent a couple of 
hours; and having partaken of supper, they 
retired for the night. 

The days that followed were similar to the 
first; clear and cold, but without fresh snow. 
Old Gaspard spent the afternoons watching 
the eagles and a few other birds that ventured 
on these frozen heights, while Ulrich regularly 
returned to the defile of the Gemmi to con- 
template the village. Then they played at 
cards, dice or dominoes, winning or losing ob- 
jects of small value to make the game inter- 
esting. 

One morning, Gaspard, who was the first to 
arise, called his companion to the window. A 
light, moving cloud of white flakes was noise- 
lessly falling about and around them, slowly 
enshrouding them under a thick, mossy cover- 


192 


THE SCHWARENBACH INN. 


ing. This lasted for four days and nights. 
When it was over they were obliged to clear 
the doors and windows, and cut a passage and 
steps to ascend above the mass of snow, which 
twelve hours of frost had rendered harder than 
the granite of the mountain. From that time 
on they lived like prisoners, rarely venturing 
outside of their home. They shared the work 
equally and accomplished it regularly. Ulrich 
did the cleaning and wood chopping, while 
Gaspard devoted his time to the cooking and 
the fires; interrupting their regular and mono- 
tonous work only by long games of cards or 
dice. Both being good natured and peaceable, 
and having furthermore made a provision of 
patience and resignation for their winter on 
the summits, they never quarreled or even ex- 
changed sharp or impatient words. 

Sometimes Gaspard took his gun and went 
in search of the chamois, and whenever he was 
fortunate enough to kill one, there was great 
rejoicing over this banquet of fresh meat at 
Schwarenbach Inn. 

Hoping to surprise some of these animals at 
the edge of the Wildstrubel at sunrise, the old 


THE SCHWARENBACH INN. 


193 


guide started out early one morning, leaving his 
companion fast asleep in his bed. 

It was nearly ten o’clock when Ulrich arose. 
He breakfasted slowly, with Sam for his only 
companion, and when he had accomplished his 
monotonous work, he seated himself drearily 
by the fireside, while the dog returned to his 
accustomed corner and stretched himself out 
to sleep. A feeling of sadness, of fright even 
at his solitude invaded him, and a longing for 
the daily game of cards took possession of him. 
Starting up from his reverie, he gazed thought- 
fully through the window for a few moments, 
then set out to meet his companion who was to 
return before nightfall. 

The snow had leveled the whole valley, fill- 
ing the crevices, effacing the two lakes, cover- 
ing the rocks, and leaving nothing visible with- 
out the circle of towering pinnacles; thus 
forming a sort of immense tub of white dazzling 
ice. 

It was now three weeks since the young 
man had visited his place of observation of the 
village below, and his steps unconsciously 
turned in that direction. Loeche was now also 


194 


THE SCHWARENBACH INN. 


buried under the snow and the dwellings were 
scarcely distinguishable beneath the pale 
shroud that enveloped the village; but he nev 
ertheless gazed long and wistfully at the ham- 
let in which dwelt his sweetheart, the blonde 
haired and pale cheeked Louise. 

Then, turning to the right, he walked rap- 
idly toward the glacier of Loemmern, striking 
the frozen snow with his stick and searching 
the horizon for a moving object on that meas- 
ureless expanse. 

When he reached the edge of the glacier he 
paused hesitatingly, asking himself if his com- 
panion might not have taken another way. The 
day was declining fast, and a vague feeling of 
uneasiness took possession of him. A dry, icy 
wind swept over the crystal surface in sharp 
gusts that made him shiver under his heavy 
garments, and his voice echoed strangely to 
his ears as he called his comrade’s name in a 
loud prolonged cry. The voice floated away 
in the deathly silence of the sleeping mount- 
ain; it wafted far away in the distance over the 
deep, motionless, icy billows, like the cry of a 





WHEN HE REACHED THE EDGE OF THE GLACIER. HE PAUSED HESITATINGLY 








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THE SCHWARENBACH INN. I95 

bird over the ocean wave ; then it died away, 
and no response came to him. 

Again he resumed his rapid pace. The sun 
had sunk b.hind the tall pinnacles which were 
still tinted by the rosy reflection of the heavens; 
but the depths of the valley ' were becoming 
gray. A sudden feeling of terror overcame 
him. It seemed to him thatthesilence, thecold, 
the solitude, the wintry death of these mount- 
ains, invaded h m; chilling his blood, stiffening 
his limbs, and graduilly transforming him into 
a frozen, motionless being. Turning abruptly, 
he flew wildly toward the inn. 

“The old man must have returned another 
way,” he thought, “and I shall find him at the 
fireside with a dead chamois at his feet.” 

The inn soon appeared in sight, but no smoke 
issued from the chimney. Redoubling his pace, 
he dashed to the door of the low dwelling and 
thrust it open. Sam leaped up to welcome 
him with a joyous bark; but Gaspard had not 
returned. 

Bewildered at this discovery, Ulrich turned 

abruptly about, casting a searching glance 

around the room, half expecting to find his old 
13 


196 THE SCHWARENBACH INN. 

friend concealed in a corner. He then lighted 
a fire and prepared the supper, still hoping to 
hear his companion’s returning footstep at any 
moment. 

From time to time he went out to see if he 
had not appeared. Night had now fallen, that 
wan, pale night of the mountains, that livid, 
night lighted up at the horizon by a narrow yel- 
low streak ready to sink behind the summits. 

Then he would re-enter, seat himself beside 
the fire to warm his hands and feet, while his 
imagination conjured up all sorts of possible 
accidents. 

Gaspard might have broken one of his legs, 
fallen into a hole or made a misstep and sprained 
his ankle. And he might now be lying on the 
snow, chilled and stiffened by the- cold, calling 
despairingly for help in the silence of the night. 

But where could he be found? The mount- 
ain was so vast, so rugged, so dangerous — 
especially at this season — that it would have 
required twenty guides at least to search in this 
immensity. 

Ulrich nevertheless determined to make an 
attempt to find his comrade if he did not return 


THE SCHWARENBACH INN. IQ/ 

before midnight, and he at once began his prep- 
arations. Having placed sufficient food for a two 
days’ journey in a bag, he wound a long stout 
rope around his body, examined his alpen — 
stock and cramp-irons, sharpened the hatchet 
which would serve to hew steps in the ice, and 
impatiently awaited the hour of departure. The 
fire sparkled invitingly in the chimney, the dog 
dozed near the flame, and the clock ticked 
loudly in its sonorous case. 

He awaited; his ear strained to catch the 
distant sounds, shivering at each blast of icy 
winds that swept over the roof and against the 
walls of the dreary dwelling. 

He started at the first stroke of midnight. 
Feeling nervous and affrighted, he placed 
water on the fire that he might drink a cup of 
hot coffee before leaving. As the clock struck 
one, he arose, awakened Sam, opened the door 
and strode rapidly in the direction of the Wild- 
strubel. For five hours he continued to ascend, 
scaling the rocks by means of his cramp-irons, 
hewing steps in the glistening ice, ever pushing 
forward, often times pulling his dog after him 
up the too steep declivities with the aid of his 


198 THE SCHWARENBACH INN. 

rope. At about six o’clock he reached one of 
the summits on which Gaspard frequently came 
to hunt the chamois, and here he rested to 
await day-light. 

The sky was paling above his head, and, sud- 
denly, a strange, mysterious light, borne no 
one knows whence, lit up the immense ocean 
of white pinnacles that arose around him to a 
distance of a hundred leagues. This vague 
light seemed to emerge from the very snow to 
pour itself into space. Little by little, the 
highest of the distant summits assumed a rosy 
hue and the red sun appeared behind the mas- 
sive giants of the Bernese Alps. 

Ulrich arose and resumed his way, with head 
bent down, searching for a trace and encourag- 
ing his dog to hunt for the scent. 

He was now going down the mountain side, 
scrutinizing the fissures and calling aloud as he 
went. But his voice quickly died away in the 
silent immensity. Then he paused to listen, 
and, believing he distinguished a cry, he ran 
faster, calling again as he went, until breathless 
and exhausted he sank down in despair. About 
noon he shared his breakfast with Sam, who 


THE SCHWARENBACH INN. 


199 


was as weary as himself, and then recom- 
menced his search. 

Night found him still walking courageously 
onward. He had wandered over fifty kilo- 
meters of mountains. Being too far from the 
house to think of returning and too weary to 
drag himself further, he dug a hole in the snow 
and crept into it with his dog, covering himself 
with the blanket he had brought. Pressing 
close together, the man and the beast passed 
the night shivering side by side. 

Ulrich slept but little; his mind was haunted 
by terrifying visions, and his limbs trembled 
with fear and cold. Day was breaking when he 
arose. His legs were stiff as iron bars, his soul 
filled with anguish, his heart palpitating with 
emotion, and his nerves unstrung. For a mo- 
ment he feared he, too, might die of cold in 
this solitude, and the terror of such a death 
roused his energy and vigor anew. 

He now turned toward the inn, stumbling 
and falling at almost every step, followed by 
Sam, who hopped along on three legs. 

It was four o’clock in the afternoon when he 
finally reached Schwarenbach. The house 


200 


THE SCHWARENBACH INN. 


was Still empty. He mechanically built a fire, 
ate and slept, too weary and stupefied to even 
think. 

How long he slept he knew not. But sud- 
denly a cry: “Ulrich!” pierced through his stu- 
por and aroused him from his slumber. He 
started up and rubbed his eyes. Had he 
dreamed? Was it one of those mysterious 
calls which disturb the dreams of uneasy souls? 

No! He heard it still; the piercing shriek 
vibrated through his whole being and re- 
sounded in his ears even now. Some one had 
called him. Some one was there near the 
house; he could not doubt it. 

Rushing to the door, he opened it, and called 
out with all his strength: “Is it you, Gaspard?” 
But he received no reply; not a sound, not a 
moan, not a murmur. Nothing! It was night 
and the snow appeared like a pall. The wind 
had arisen; that frosty breath which cracks the 
rocks and kills all life on these abandoned 
heights. It came in sudden gusts, more parch- 
ing and more deathly than the fiery wind of the 
desert. Again he cried: “Gaspard! Gaspard! 
Gaspard!” 


THE SCHWARENBACH INN. 


201 


Then he waited, but all remained silent on 
the mountain. A sudden terror thrilled him to 
the marrow. In one bound he was in the house. 
Banging the door behind him, he bolted it se- 
curely and sank trembling into a chair, con- 
vinced that he had been called by his comrade 
at the moment his soul had taken flight. 

Of this he was as certain as that he was 
alive. He felt assured that Gaspard Hari had' 
lingered in a death agony during those two 
days and three nights, somewhere in one of 
those deep immaculate ravines, the whiteness 
of which is more sinister than the gloom of a 
cavern, and that at the moment of death he had 
thought of his companion. The instant his 
soul had been freed it had flown to the inn and 
called him by virtue of that mysterious and ter- 
rible power which the souls of the dead pos- 
sess to haunt the living. That voiceless soul 
had cried out into the stupefied soul of the 
sleeper; it had cried out its last farewell or its 
curse on the man who had not searched long 
enough for his best comrade. 

And Ulrich felt that it was there, near him, 

the other side of the wall; behind the door he 

13 


2 02 


THE SCHWARENBACH JNN. 


had just bolted. It hovered about like a night 
bird that rustles its wings against a lighted 
window; and the terrified man almost cried out 
in horror. He wanted to fly, but dared not to 
go out. He dared not, and never would dare; 
for the phantom would remain there day and 
night hovering about the inn, until the body of 
the old guide should be found and buried in 
the consecrated grounds of the cemetery. 

Day finally dawned, and the young man re- 
covered some of his assurance with the return 
of the bright sunlight. He prepared his meal, 
made soup for the dog, then again sank gloom- 
ily in his seat before the fire, his heart tortured 
with anxiety and fear as he thought of the old 
man lying on the frozen snow. 

As soon as night again fell on the mount- 
ain, howevei* new terrors assailed him. He 
nervously paced the dark kitchen dimly lighted 
by the flame of a single candle, listening, still 
listening for that fearful cry which had pierced 
the gloomy silence of without during the pre- 
vious night. And the wretched man felt more 
alone than any man had ever been! He was 
alone in that immense desert of snow, alone 


THE SCHWARENBACH INN. 


203 


six thousand feet above the inhabited world, 
above human dwellings, above noisy, palpitat- 
ing life; alone in the frozen heavens! A mad 
desire to fly, to reach Loeche by hurling him- 
self into the abyss took possession of him. 
But he dared not even open the door; con- 
vinced that the dead man would bar the way 
that he might not be left alone on those 
heights. 

Toward midnight, weary of walking and 
overcome by fear and agony, he fell asleep 
in a chair, for he feared his bed as we fear a 
haunted spot. 

Suddenly, the piercing cry of the preceding 
night fell on his ear with such distinctness that 
he instinctively extended his arms to repel the 
phantom, and he fell backward with his chair. 
Aroused by the noise, Sam began to howl dis- 
mally, sniffing around the house in search of 
the source of danger. At the door he paused 
and gave vent to a low growl, his hair bristling 
and his tail lashing his flanks. 

Wild with fright, Ulrich had risen; and 
holding the chair aloft, he cried: “ Don’t 
come in, don’t come in, or I shall kill you!” 


204 


THE SCHWARENBACH INN. 


And the dog, urged by this menace, barked 
furiously at the invisible enemy that defied his 
master’s voice. 

By degrees, however, Sam grew calmer and 
returned to his corner by his fire; but he was 
still uneasy and growled between his teeth. 

Ulrich, in his turn, finally recovered his 
senses; but feeling faint with terror, he opened 
the cupboard, and, taking out a bottle of 
brandy, swallowed several glasses of the liquid 
in succession. As his ideas became confused, 
his courage returned and a fiery fever ran 
through his vains. 

He ate little on the following day, content- 
ing himself with copious draughts of alcohol. 
For many days he lived in a drunken stupor. 
The moment the thought of old Gaspard re- 
turned to him, he recommenced drinking and 
never stopped until he fell to the floor over- 
come by intoxication. 

But scarcely did the fumes of the liquor be- 
gin to dissipate, when again the cry of “Ulrich!” 
started him like a bullet crashing through his 
skull. Rising up, he would stagger forward, 
stretching out his hands to keep from falling 


THE SCHWARENBACH INN. 


205 


and calling wildly on Sam to protect him. 
Then the dog, who seemed to have become as 
mad as his master, would dash to the door, 
scratch it with his claws, and gnaw it with his 
sharp teeth, while the young man quaffed long 
draughts of the fiery liquor that would anni- 
hilate his thoughts and wild, uncontrollable 
terror. 

In three weeks he had absorbed all his pro- 
vision of alcohol. But this continued intoxi- 
cation had only stupefied his terror, and it re- 
awakened more furiously than ever as soon as 
it became impossible to calm it. These weeks 
of drunkenness, combined with the absolute 
solitude of his surrounding, had inflamed his 
one fixed haunting idea, and it had sunk into 
his brain with the penetrating force of an auger. 
He now paced the room like a caged beast, 
pressing his ear to the door to listen for the 
voice of the phantom and defying it through the 
wall. 

Then, when overcome by fatigue, he sank 
into slumber, -he again heard the voice that 
made him leap to his feet. At last one night, 
like all cowards driven to extremities, he 


206 


THE SCHWARENBACH INN. 


dashed to the door and opened it wide, deter- 
mined to see the one who incessantly called 
him and force him to stop. 

A breath of icy wind struck him in the face, 
freezing him to the marrow; and he hastily 
slammed the door and bolted it, without re- 
marking that Sam had rushed out. Then shiv- 
ering with cold, he piled more wood on the fire 
and sat before it to warm himself. But sud- 
denly he started; someone was scratching on 
the wall and moaning. 

“Begone!” he cried wildly. 

A long, plaintive moan was his only reply. 

Terror now carried away his remaining 
senses. “Begone! begone!” he repeated, his 
haggard eyes wandering around the room in 
search of a hiding place. But the other contin- 
ued to moan and scratch against the door. 

With superhuman strength Ulrich grasped 
the heavy oaken cupboard, filled with crockery 
and provisions, and dragged it to the door to 
serve as a barricade. He then piled the re- 
maining furniture against the windows, shut- 
ting out the light with the mattresses and bed- 
ding. But the one without still continued the 


THE SCHWARENBACH INN. 


207 


lugubrious howls, and the young man now re- 
sponded by similar sounds. 

Days and nights passed without either ceas- 
ing to howl. The one outside incessantly wan- 
dering around the house, and tearing its walls 
with his nails, as if bent on demolishing them; 
the other, within, following all these move- 
ments anxiously, crouching against the stones 
and replying to all these appeals with frightful 
cries. 

One night the noise from without ceased; 
and overcome with fatigue, Ulrich immediately 
sunk into sleep. 

He awoke without thought or rememberance, 
as though his brain had been emptied during 
that overwhelming slumber. He was hungry 
and he ate. 

^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ 

Winter was over at last. The defile of the 
Gemmi was once more practicable, and the 
Hauser family set out to return to the inn. 
When they had reached the top of the ascent, 
the women mounted the mule and the little 
party proceeded slowly toward Schwarenbach. 
As they went on, the conversation naturally 


208 the schwarenbach inn. 

turned to the two guides they had left on the 
mountain a few months before, and they ex- 
pressed their astonishment that one of them, 
at least, had not come down as soon as the de- 
scent had become possible to give them nevvs 
of their long isolation. 

They soon came in sight of the inn, still 
burried in snow and glistening with icicles. The 
door and windows were closed, and a thin cloud 
of smoke ascended from the chimney. This 
reassured old Hauser, who had felt some alarm 
at the non-appearance of the guides at Loeche 
ere this. As they drew nearer, however, they 
preceived the skeleton of an animal lying near 
the door. As poor Sam had been picked 
nearly to the bones by the eagles that con- 
tinually hover about those mountains, they 
were somewhat puzzled at the sight of the de- 
nuded skeleton, and eagerly rushed forward 
to examine it. 

“It must be Sam,” finally said the mother; 
then raising her voice she called: “Hi, Gas- 
pard!” 

A hoarse cry resembling that of a beast, re- 
sponded from the interior. 


THE SCHWARENBACH INN. 209 

“Hi, Gaspard!” repeated old Hauser with a 
vague feeling of uneasiness. 

Another cry, similar to the first, was the only 
reply. 

The three men then tried to open the door; 
but it resisted all their efforts. Going to the 
stables, they procured a long beam which they 
used as a battering ram. Under their united 
efforts the wood finally shivered and flew into 
splinters. Then a great noise shook the house; 
and, behind the overturned cupboard, they saw 
a man with long hair and beard that fell over 
his breast and shoulders, who gazed at them 
with wild, dilated eyes. 

Although none of the others recognized him, 
Louise Hauser at once cried out: “ It is Ulrich, 
Mama!” and on closer scrutiny the mother 
found that it was indeed he, although his hair 
was white as snow. 

He allowed them to approach and even 
touch him, but he made no reply to their 
questions. And when he was taken to Loeche, 
the physicians declared he was mad. No one 
ever learned what had become of his compan- 


ion. 


210 


THE SCHWARENBACH INN. 


Louise Hauser was brought to the verge of 
the grave that summer, by a lingering illness 
which was attributed to the cold temperature 
of the mountain. 




3 *^ 







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t 


Deacidified using the Bookkeeper proc 
Neutralizing Agent: Magnesium Oxide 
Treatment Date: 



9 



